


The Baby Carriage

by Wtchcool



Series: BIOTP 'verse [5]
Category: Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman, The Cape (2011)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wtchcool/pseuds/Wtchcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having already achieved love and marriage (although not necessarily in that order), Peter sets his sights on the next step.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rumor Has It

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I kind of doubt the owners of “The Cape” would’ve taken the series in this direction (although it would’ve been a great idea, no?) Nor do I own Deveraux’s backstory. 
> 
> To clarify, this occurs in the “Blame It On the Perfume” ‘verse. If you’re into Pence, you may want to check out the fic’s predecessors, although I don’t think you’ll be handicapped if you don’t. If you’re not into Pence, what the hell are you doing on this page?
> 
> You may recall that Deveraux was mentioned once during the series. Hence he’s not exactly an original character, but the writers didn’t create a backstory for him. Enter Dragomir to fill the gap. This fic is using Dragomir’s version of Deveraux, created for “Time Again.” It involves a crossover with “Dark Relic,” a movie that starred James Frain, but more on that at the end of the chapter.

            Peter Fleming pulled up short when he walked into his office and saw Vince Faraday’s form leaning against his desk. A smile graced his husband’s features.

 

            “Miss me, Peter?” The sandy-haired man pulled the billionaire to him for a long kiss, promising things for later in the evening. Reluctantly, Fleming broke away and sighed.

 

            “You’re going to get me in trouble that way, Deveraux.” The shape shifter frowned.

 

            “How did you know it was me?” André René Deveraux demanded, as he resumed his own appearance—tousled dark hair replaced Vince’s lighter curls and arcane tattoos became visible along his face.

 

            “For one thing, the Cape was just photographed halfway across town.”

 

            “And what did I forget?” André folded his arms.

 

            “And Vince rarely greets me so… affectionately.” Deveraux raised an eyebrow.

 

            “But you’ve been married for three years!”

 

            “I don’t have to explain our relationship to you. Besides, you’re just miffed that I’m no longer available.”

 

            In reply, Deveraux grumbled something about stubborn monogamists. Peter and André had met and begun an on-again off-again relationship in the months after Fleming was widowed. Apparently, Peter strongly reminded Deveraux of his first love, Gregory.

 

            (Actually, Deveraux claimed that he was immortal and that he and Gregory were Peter’s ancestors. Peter preferred to believe that Deveraux was slightly insane, not that he would hold that against him. He didn’t know a soul that wouldn’t call Chess mental, not even amongst his loved ones.)

 

            But Peter had rebuffed Deveraux’s advances since his unexpected remarriage to Vince Faraday, “in the interests of self-preservation,” he’d explained. Evidently, the shape shifter had trouble taking no for an answer.

 

            “You’re no fun anymore.” Dear lord, he was pouting.  “If you didn’t invite me over for old times’ sake, then why did you want to see me?”

 

            Right; it was time to get down to business.

 

            “Some of Luthor Corp.’s research has recently come into my possession,” Peter began.

 

            “Translation: You stole it.” Peter narrowed his eyes.

 

            “The man who commissioned the research has been dead for about two decades; the information was just collecting cobwebs. Even if it was misappropriated, it was for a good cause.” He was rewarded with a snort.

 

            “Sure it was. How could it be for anything else?” Peter sat down and just looked at him. Finally, the immortal broke the silence. “Alright, I’ll bite. What did your bald Metropolis counterpart come up with?” Fleming wordlessly pushed a folder across the desk and the older man started skimming its contents.

 

            “What the… Cloning? You want to clone yourself? Have you gone completely insane?” Peter sighed and waved a hand impatiently.

 

            “Luthor’s interest was in cloning. The clones he commissioned were never effective—replicating 100% of a person’s D.N.A. resulted in unstable specimens—so he had his team look for a solution. They hypothesized that combining Luthor’s D.N.A. with the Kryptonian’s should result in a healthy child.

 

            “No,” Peter anticipated the question on the other’s mind, “they never tested the proposition. They were unable to obtain another sample of Superman’s D.N.A. before their C.E.O. passed away and afterwards the project was disbanded, all but forgotten.”

 

            “Okay, I know you have a point there somewhere, hot stuff. You want to get to it sometime today?”

 

            “I’d have thought it would be obvious.”

 

            “Then I guess I don’t think too clearly when I’m sexually frustrated: Out with it!”

 

            “The team at Luthor Corp. discovered how to create a zygote using D.N.A. from two males. Now do you see where I’m going with this?” Deveraux whistled.

 

            “You want to reproduce with Faraday, and you’ve found out how to make it possible.” Fleming inclined his head.

 

            “Correct.”

 

            “And you’re telling me because…”

 

            “While the process does not require a female to contribute D.N.A., the fetus would still have to develop in a uterus. Hence, I find myself in need of a surrogate.”

 

            “And you thought of me?”

 

            “I need someone I can trust, someone I can work with. We certainly wouldn’t bring Vince’s ex-wife into this—”

 

            “Even I can see that that’d be a bit of a faux pas.”

 

“You did indicate that you’ve given birth before—”

 

            “And enjoyed it,” he interrupted.

 

            “And are still capable of it?” Fleming queried. In reply, Deveraux shape shifted into a woman, adopting his Rebecca façade, and grinned.

 

            “But of course!” She looked at her descendant. Funny how he trusted her abilities as a shape shifter, but refused to believe she’d given birth to an ancestor of his centuries ago. Mortals were odd like that, but perhaps it was to protect himself from the fact that he’d slept with his great-great-great, phooey, however many great-grandmother. If she had made a point of avoiding intimate relations with any of her descendants, she might have to take a damn vow of abstinence; _nope, not going to happen_.

 

            “It would be my pleasure,” Deveraux assured Peter. Then she frowned. “Vince _is_ on board with this plan, isn’t he?”

**Author’s Note: According to Dragomir, Max and Deveraux are both immortals who practice magic and Deveraux shape shifts. Centuries ago, Deveraux as “Rebecca” fell in love with and married a knight named Sir Gregory and they had a big family. Max and Deveraux are supposed to have a competition going between them and they employ champions to fight for them. In “Time Again,” Scales would have been Deveraux’s champion, but he exploits a loophole to keep the smuggler out of the competition.**

**While I recommend “Time Again”, I don’t want to incorporate the events from it into this fic. In this ‘verse, Peter was going to be Deveraux’s champion and Vince was Max’s. However, the unexpected marriage between the two champions voided the round before it could get underway.**

**Now, regarding the other fandom at play here: You may recall that “Blame It On the Perfume,” like “In-Laws” before it, was a cross-over with “Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman.” This made my plan for Peter to borrow the technology used to produce Connor Kent in “Smallville” a bit tricky, but there was cloning in Lois & Clark. Hence I stretched things a bit so that the old series’ Lex had the research at his fingertips, but didn’t get the opportunity to carry it out before his death.**

**You got an issue with that, or with the ratio of fic to author’s note, you can let me know. Come on, it’s the first ever Pence baby fic. You’ve got to have something to say about it.**


	2. Nobody's A Picture Perfect

_Flashback_

 

            Vince seemed down lately. (Peter would’ve noticed, even if Chess hadn’t pointed it out, probably.) Fleming didn’t think it was a coincidence that Dana and her second husband, Jack, were expecting.

 

            Peter remembered asking Trip, before introducing the boy to his stepsister, Jamie, about his opinion of siblings. The child had replied: “ _I told my parents I’d rather have a puppy_.” The statement revealed more than Trip’s (rather irrelevant) preference for being an only child. It meant that the Faradays, when they had still been together, had seriously discussed the possibility of having more children.

 

            Perhaps if Vince hadn’t had to fake his death— _that was your, well alright, our doing, Peter_—he and Dana would’ve had another child by now. Or the Faradays might have gotten divorced anyway. (Vince had accepted a job offer with ARK, after all. It was conceivable Peter and Faraday would’ve gotten together eventually. _Bloody unlikely, though_ , Chess commented.)

 

            After his wife, Danielle, had died, Peter hadn’t given much thought to the idea of having another child. He’d tried to be a good father to Jamie—

 

            _And you buggered that, didn’t you?_

 

            Peter rubbed at his temples. Whose side was Chess on?

 

            In retrospect, he could’ve done things differently with his daughter. Maybe he had pushed Jamie away. He could blame her creation of Orwell’s blog on Chess, but he had to take responsibility for his own actions. He had tried to micromanage her life, had practically kept her under house arrest—all for her safety, of course. But his motivations hadn’t kept her from running away.

 

At least they had been working on repairing their relationship over the past few years. He had Vince to thank for that. He rather doubted Jamie would have given him a second chance if he hadn’t married her best friend/partner in fighting crime.

 

            Peter could learn from the mistakes he had made with Jamie; surely he’d be able to do better if he had another child to raise. And unlike with Jamie, he wouldn’t have to do it alone.

 

            _“Alone”? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about me, Peter._

 

            Fleming snorted. As if Chess shared parenting responsibilities.

 

            _Well, no, but I wouldn’t mind being able to pass on a legacy. “Chess Junior” has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?_

 

            God; he really did need to find a new therapist. Perhaps eventually he’d be able to shut up the annoying voice in his head.

 

The pointwas that now he would have Vince to help him—

 

            _Unless Faraday gets himself killed, but we’ve taught him not to take stupid risks. And we’d level the city to the ground to destroy his killer._

 

_…No argument, Peter?_

 

…No, he agreed with the maniac on that point.

 

            Peter could concede that Vince was a better father to his son than he had been to his daughter. The hero would never have driven his son away from him. Hell, he’d learned that the former cop had only donned the cape in the first place in order to have a means of keeping in touch with his offspring.

 

            (That revelation had bruised his ego a bit. As the Cape’s nemesis, he had assumed he’d been the hero’s raison d’être. It had seemed like a logical conclusion. The Cape kept going on and on about how he would bring Chess to his knees— _I don’t think he meant to give us those ideas, though_ , Chess mused.)

 

            The billionaire tried to picture bringing up a child with his husband and smiled. It was possibly the best idea he’d had in a long time (and he was a criminal mastermind, so that was saying something).

 

            He’d better verify that Vince was amenable to having another child before beginning the adoption process. He frowned.

 

            It did seem too bad that they’d have to adopt. If only they could have a baby that was biologically both his and Vince’s… He visualized a little girl or boy having a mixture of their features. (Chess tried not to gag at Peter’s ensuing sappiness.) Suddenly, he found himself wishing there was a way. Perhaps if he’d studied genetic engineering he’d be able to find a solution.

 

            Wait. He was Peter Fleming, the CEO of ARK Corporation, the richest inhabitant and unofficial ruler of Palm City. If it was possible, he had the resources at his disposal to find out.

 

He could start by taking a look at the research developed by Luthor Corp. before the company had fallen to ruin. Lex Luthor had funded a number of interesting projects before his death. In fact, it had been one of Luthor’s associates, Miranda, that had perfected the pheromone compound that had changed the course of his relationship with Faraday.

_I still say you might’ve gotten the same result by getting the Cape drunk. Although that might’ve been a bit tricky since you couldn’t spend five minutes in the same room with him without going for each other’s throats._

 

~PF~

 

            “Vince,” Peter began one evening. The younger man was currently sprawled on a couch in the penthouse, munching on potato chips while watching television. For a moment, Peter thought “Saving Private Ryan” was on. Then he saw some computer-generated monster come on the screen. So Faraday was watching the ScyFy network, again.

 

            “What is it?” the security guard asked, without taking his eyes off the T.V.

 

            “If you could have another child now, would you?” Vince spluttered, spraying crumbs over himself.

 

            “You mean with you? Like that’d ever happen.”

 

            “Humor me. Would you want another son or a daughter?” Faraday met Fleming’s eyes for a moment, before looking away.

 

            “If things had been different,” he replied after a beat, his voice hoarse. He and Dana had wanted a larger family, before their marriage fell to pieces. He tried to shrug nonchalantly. “But it doesn’t matter now. No point obsessing over the road not taken, right?”

 

            “Indeed. Much better to focus on the future and the options available to you now,” Peter replied.

 

_End Flashback_

 

            “What makes you think I’ll sign this contract?” Deveraux asked. He’d reverted to his masculine form.

 

            “It’s just a formality; my lawyers prepared it so—”

 

            “So that I’ll give up all rights to the child and won’t challenge you for custody or visitation! What is this?”

 

            “I thought I was clear. I’m looking for a surrogate. After the child is born, my husband and I will take things from there. That’s the deal. If you’re not interested, walk now. I’ll find someone else.”

 

            “You’ll find someone as discreet as me?”

 

            “That contract has a gag clause. Whoever signs it will be bound to secrecy.”

 

            “And you’ll pressure some poor woman into signing it without consulting a lawyer first. Alright, hang on, I haven’t said no. Can we talk about this? I’d be going through nine months of pregnancy and childbirth. I don’t think it would be unreasonable to want to remain a part of the kid’s life.”

 

            “Oh my; accused of being unreasonable; whatever shall I do?” Peter sarcastically drawled.

 

            “At the very least, you could let me babysit. You and your spouse both have jobs—”

 

            “Frankly, I think Jamie would be a more responsible babysitter than you. For that matter, so would Faraday’s teenage son. Oh, all right. You will have the opportunity to babysit when you’re in town, but if we find your performance unsuitable—”

 

            “You won’t, I promise,” Deveraux beamed. “Now that that’s settled,” André glanced in the direction of the master bedroom, “how much time do we have before Vince gets home?”

 

            “Forget it, André.”

 

~VF~

 

            _Two weeks later:_

 

            “Vince,” Peter called, as he entered the penthouse. “I have a surprise for you.”

 

            The shape shifter beside him, now in the guise of Rebecca, turned to the billionaire and frowned.

 

            “What do you mean, ‘surprise’? I thought you said he knew about this!” Deveraux hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Enjoying Chess’ antics? Disappointed in Peter?
> 
> Chapter title from Kelly Clarkson’s song, “Dark Side.”


	3. I Wanna Shout Out

            “What I said was that Vince was on board with the plan,” Peter replied, “and he will be.”

 

            “WILL BE?!! FLEMING!” Deveraux shrieked. “YOU SON OF A…”

 

            “Oh, joy,” Vince said sarcastically, as he entered the room, “you brought Deveraux with you.” Faraday hadn’t taken well to the shape shifter, possibly because of the latter’s opinions on open marriage.

 

            “Vincent, do you know what your husband has done?” Deveraux asked, all but trembling in outrage. She felt used; like she was just a pawn in one of her descendant’s schemes, rather than a surrogate chosen by a hopeful couple.

 

            “I’m sure I’ll regret asking.”

 

            “Now, hold on. It was nothing bad,” Peter insisted.

 

            “Alright, Peter, what did you do? Don’t tell me you got her pregnant,” Vince joked. There was an awkward pause.

 

            “If you’ll just let me explain,” the billionaire began.

 

            “I’ll kill you,” Vince said, his tone dangerously flat. “And then,” he said, turning to Deveraux, “we’ll find out just how ‘immortal’ you are.”

 

            “He told me you knew about this!”

 

            “Vincent, it’s not what you think!”

 

            “So she isn’t pregnant?”

 

            “She is, but we didn’t have sex.”

 

            “Haven’t since you two got together,” Deveraux said, pouting. “But that’s not the point.”

 

            “Okay, back up,” Vince said. “Then who is the father?”

 

            “About that, Vincent—”

 

            “You are,” Rebecca replied.

 

            “Excuse me? I think I’d remember it if we’d—”

 

            “Sweetheart, remember when you said you wanted to have another child?”

 

            “What, you want to adopt Deveraux’s child?”

 

            “Not exactly; let’s sit down,” Peter maneuvered his husband over to the couch. Deveraux sat in a nearby chair. “Certain research came into my possession—”

 

            “Do you really want to drag out this conversation in front of a moody pregnant woman?” Vince asked, indicating the shape shifter.

 

            “Fine, I’ll be brief. We’ve both wanted to have another child. I found a way for us to have a biological child.”

 

            “Come again?”

 

            “The fetus that Deveraux is carrying was created using a combination of your D.N.A. and mine. Vince, we’re going to have a baby.”

 

            For a moment, Vince thought Peter was having him on. The idea sounded like something out of a bad sci-fi/romance novel. Then again, so did the idea of a perfume making him realize his subconscious desire for his archenemy. In fact, compared to the fact that his husband’s ex was (an allegedly immortal) shape shifter, this seemed plausible.

 

            And Peter didn’t look like he was joking. 

 

            “YOU ASSHOLE!” Vince screamed. “You complete MORON! You didn’t think that was something we should discuss BEFORE you went ahead and…”

 

            “I can see that you’re upset,” Peter interrupted his irate spouse.

 

            _Upset? Peter, he looks homicidal_ , Chess put in.

 

            “But I did this for us. I wanted to surprise you. And you _did_ say that you wanted to have another kid.”

 

            “Yes, but that was in theory! I didn’t mean I wanted to have one with you and… oh, god, Chess!” Vince ran his hands through his hair. The idea of sharing a son or daughter with Peter’s psychotic alter ego was horrifying. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

 

            “Calm down. Take deep breaths. Deveraux, would you give us a moment?” Peter asked.

 

            “If you need me, I’ll be downstairs,” she replied. An apartment had been set up for her on another floor of ARK Tower. She’d stay there for the duration of the pregnancy, and afterwards, if she had anything to say about it. “Oh, and Faraday: Don’t kill him without me.”

 

            “I make no promises,” Vince grumbled as she left.

 

            “Chess won’t be a problem,” Peter told him.

 

            “Not a problem? He’s a psychopath. He doesn’t belong near children. He should be behind bars.”

 

            “Yes, well that would require putting me behind bars, so you’ll have to settle for keeping him under control. Chess was around while Jamie was growing up, but he wasn’t involved in raising her.”

 

            “So you screwed that up on your own.”

 

            Peter flinched. _You_ s _hould’ve seen that coming, Peter._

 

            “I’m sorry, Peter. I know that’s a sore issue with you, but you opened the door by… How did you even have a sample of my D.N.A. on hand? No, don’t answer that. This is insane—”

 

            “Some would say the same about our marriage.” Come to think of it, Vince _had_ said the same about their marriage.

 

            “That’s different. This’ll never work.”

 

            “Maybe I should’ve been a better father to Jamie. But this _will_ work. I know it will.”

 

            “How can you possibly know that?”

 

            “I know because this time, I have you.”

 

            “Peter…”

 

            “Even death wouldn’t keep you from being a proper father to Trip. You’ll be there to guide me, to keep me in line. We’ll make it work together.”

 

            “Still has disaster written all over it,” Vince shook his head.

 

            “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not excited about this.”

 

            Vince thought for a moment before replying.

 

            “I am,” he said, a smile finally crossing his features. It was just starting to dawn on him. _Oh my god, we’re having a baby._ “I do want this baby. But I’m still nervous about it and… Seriously, Peter! Did it even cross your mind that couples should discuss having a baby first and agree on it instead of one going off and acting unilaterally? Yeah, I know, you said you wanted to surprise me. A baby isn’t like a surprise party, Fleming! You don’t just jump out and spring one on someone!”

 

            “You’re right.” Peter braced himself. “I apologize. I’ll keep that in mind next time…”

 

            Vince thwacked him on the arm.

 

            “What ‘next time’? We haven’t even had this one yet. I don’t think we should start planning more.”

 

            “The next time an important decision has to be made then,” Peter rephrased. “I’ll be sure to consult you first.”

 

            “Good. What on earth possessed you to use Deveraux as a surrogate? You know how I feel about her.”

 

            “I needed someone we knew; someone we could trust.”

 

            “And mentally stable was too much to hope for, I suppose?”

 

            “You’re the one that actually takes her claim of being my ancestor seriously.”

 

            “Yeah, well, haven’t you noticed that Jamie looks like her? You haven’t? I thought it was obvious.”

 

            _So **that’s** why Jamie thinks Deveraux is creepy. _

 

            “Assuming you’re right, Deveraux might have intentionally…” Where was the aspirin or the whisky, for that matter? “Let’s change the subject.”

 

            “Fine; oh crap.”

 

            “What is it?”

 

            “I just realized. Peter, we’re going to have to break this to the kids.” _That should be fun._

 

            “Shall we talk with them one at a time or both at once?”

 

            “Better make it both at once. This isn’t a conversation that I’m going to want to relive. As a matter of fact, maybe you could tell them and…”

 

            “So you won’t have to participate?”

 

            “Well, you didn’t seem to think it was important for me to participate when our child was being conceived—”

 

            “Guilt will get you nowhere, Faraday. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

 

            “I hate you.”

 

            “You could have divorced me at any time during the past three years.”

 

            “I still might.”

 

            “If deluding yourself allows you to sleep at night, then don’t let me stop you.”

 

~VF~

 

            “So what’s the big announcement?” Orwell asked, looking at her nails. Maybe she should try painting them purple. Her teenage stepbrother sat next to her on the couch. Vince was seated opposite her, with her father standing next to him. “Are you getting a divorce?”

 

            “No,” Vince replied.

 

            “You running for mayor, dad?” she asked.

 

            “That seems pointless, since I already run the city.”

 

            _Although you could use it as a stepping stone to a higher office_ , Chess pointed out.

 

            “Are you going to tell us who the Cape is?” Trip asked, hopefully.

 

            “When you’re older,” Vince replied.

 

            “Then I give up,” Trip said.

 

            “Just tell us, Vince,” Orwell said, making eye contact with him.

 

            Peter squeezed Vince’s hand.

 

            “Trip, Jamie: Peter and I are going to have a baby.”

 

            “What?” The stepsiblings stared at the men.

 

            “You mean you’re going to adopt,” Jamie said, slowly. Even that thought was hard to process. Three years and she still didn’t see how her father was Vince’s type.

 

            “Not exactly, no. It’s a little complicated. Peter can give you the technical details, but we’ve found a surrogate. You’re going to have a little brother or sister.”

 

            “I _told_ you I would’ve preferred a dog,” Trip muttered.

 

            “Aren’t you going to congratulate us?” Peter asked.

 

            “Congratulations,” Trip said. He elbowed his stepsister.

 

            “Oh. Congratulations,” she echoed, as she pulled out her smart phone.

 

            “Orwell, put down that phone! I swear, if I find anything about this on your blog…”

 

            “You’re not my father, Vince,” Jamie pointed out as she reluctantly lowered the phone.

            “That’s irrelevant. You’ll do what he says,” Peter told her.

 

            “Or what, you’ll cut off my allowance? I’m not twelve!”

 

            “Then don’t act like it.”

 

            Vince put his head in his hands.

 

            “Oh, yeah; having another kid is going to be fun,” he sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “Take Me Away.” 
> 
> Remember folks: All else being equal, the fic with the most comments gets updated first.


	4. Before the Darkness Turns to Light

_Flashback_

            “Hi, Deveraux,” Vince greeted as he entered the shape shifter’s apartment. “Can we talk?”

 

            “I guess,” Deveraux shrugged. “Did you kill him? ‘Cause I told you to wait until—”

 

            “No one is going to kill Peter,” Vince interrupted Rebecca.

 

            “Not even after what he pulled?”

 

            “What he did in going behind my back was wrong, as was his leading you to believe that I knew about all of this. But he was right about me wanting another child.” Vince took Deveraux’s hand. “Peter may have sprung this on me, but you should know that this _is_ a wanted pregnancy.”

 

            Deveraux smiled, feeling relieved.

 

            “Now that that’s settled, can we talk about the terms of the contract your husband made me sign?”

 

            “He told me about the confidentiality provision, that’s non-negotiable.”

 

            “I was thinking more about—”

 

            “You not having parental rights to the child is also non-negotiable.”

 

            “But—”

 

            “Let’s get this clear: You’re a surrogate. Peter hired you to do us a service for the next nine months. That’s all.”

 

            “No fair. I am so not getting paid enough for this,” Deveraux pouted.

_End Flashback_

 

~BC~

 

            “Hey there, Trip,” Jack Kirchner greeted his stepson as he entered the car. Jack was picking the teen up outside ARK Tower, getting ready to drive him to the home they shared with Dana. (In the beginning, Trip’s mom would pick him up, but now that she was in her final trimester, Dana was staying closer to home.)

 

            “Jack,” Trip acknowledged him. He’d come to like this stepfather. He might not be able to support his mom in the same manner as the one Peter provided his father, but Trip sensed that the attorney was more trustworthy… (That thought probably would have struck him as noteworthy, if not for the fact that his mom was a lawyer, too.)

 

            “Who’s with mom?” Trip asked. He was certain that Jack hadn’t left his very-pregnant wife alone when someone at ARK Tower could’ve given him a lift if necessary.

 

            “Kia,” Jack replied, naming Dana’s best friend from work.

 

            “And how is mom?”

 

            “She’s fine. She had a check-up the other day. Everything’s going along as it should. Just think Trip: After the baby is born, your days of living with a hormonal pregnant woman will be over.”

 

            “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Trip responded. How did this happen to him? For most of his life he’d been an only child. Within another year he’d have a total of three siblings. Although, he supposed his stepsister wasn’t that bad…even if she did worship coffee. After all, she did promise to teach him how to hotwire a car when he got older.

 

            “What do you mean?” Jack asked, puzzled.

 

            “Dad and Peter said they’ve found a surrogate and they’re having a baby.”

 

            The car came very close to swerving off the road.

 

            “What the..? Watch the road!” Trip yelled.

 

~BC~

 

            The two exited Jack’s car, ready to enter the house.

 

            “Trip,” Jack began. “I don’t think you should mention your dad’s news to your mother just yet.”

 

            “Why shouldn’t I?” Trip asked.

 

            “Well, the shock might—”

 

            “What shock?” Dana interrupted, as she opened the door for them.

 

            “Dana, you didn’t have to get the door for us. I had my key,” her husband deflected as they went inside.

 

            “I heard you pull up. It’s not like you to linger outside chatting,” she said, as she lowered herself into an armchair.

 

            “Where’s Kia?”

 

            “In the bathroom, I think. So, give. What shock?”

 

            “It’s nothing,” Jack replied.

 

            “Okay,” Dana replied skeptically. “So, Trip: Anything interesting happen at your father’s?”

 

            Trip looked between the two adults for a moment, before replying. Why did Jack seem to think it should be kept a secret? In his experience, secrets had only served to tear his family apart.

 

            “Yeah, actually. Dad and Peter are going to have a baby.”

 

            “ _What_?” Her ex-husband was… No. Trip must be confused. Vince was now married to another man.

 

            “They said ‘Aunt’ Deveraux was going to be the surrogate and… Mom, are you okay?”

 

            “Terrific,” Dana replied. “Jack, I think my water just broke.”

 

            “But I thought the baby wasn’t due for another week or so,” Trip furrowed his brow as his stepfather sprung into action. 

 

~BC~

 

            “How is she?” Trip asked Jack later that evening. They’d been in Chandler Hospital for several hours. If Trip didn’t get some sleep soon, he might become desperate enough to find out what coffee tastes like.

 

            “ _They’re_ both perfectly healthy,” Jack smiled. “Congratulations, Trip. You have a baby sister: Elaine Kirchner, weighing in at seven and a half pounds. You can go meet her now if you like.”

 

            Trip nodded and pushed himself out of the waiting room chair. Jack reached out a hand to pause him.

 

            “Now do you see why I didn’t want you to tell her?”

 

            “…It’s not like Elaine was born _that_ premature… They didn’t have to put her in an incubator or anything.”

 

~BC~

 

            “Jamie, we’ve been together for three years,” Rollo started. The two were in Orwell’s bedroom.

 

            “What’s your point?”

 

            “When are you going to introduce me to your father?”

 

            “You don’t want to meet my father, trust me,” Orwell assured him. “Besides, you’ve met Vince.”

 

            Rollo rolled his eyes.

 

            “That doesn’t count. I met Vince before you met him.”

 

            “If I hadn’t sent him that tip that sent him to the train yards and led to him being framed, you wouldn’t have met him. Yes, I just heard how that sounded. Don’t say anything about it.”

 

            “My point is, I’m starting to get the feeling you’re ashamed of me,” the thief told her.

 

            “Don’t be absurd.”

 

            “I don’t embarrass you?”

 

            “If anyone embarrasses me, it’s my father. Or did you forget that he’s Chess?”

 

            “I can’t really forget it what with you and Vince ranting about it every day. Well, not so much Vince, these past few years. I never thought I’d see a headline as bizarre as: ‘ARK CEO ELOPES WITH FUGITIVE.’”

 

            “Well brace yourself, because they’ll get weirder.”

 

            “What do you mean?”

 

            “I can’t.” Orwell bit her lip. “I promised Vince and my dad that I wouldn’t say anything yet.”

 

            “You also promised to introduce me to your dad; that was more than a year ago. Go on, spill. What are the city’s vigilante and psychopath up to now?”

 

            “Alright, but if I tell you, you can’t tell anyone: Not Max, not Raia, and especially not Ruvi.”

 

            “Okay.”

 

            As if afraid the room was bugged with her favorite gadgets, the blogger leaned over and whispered in his ear.

 

            “Are you kidding me?”

 

            “Nope; hang on, I’m getting a text.” She checked her phone. “It’s from Trip.”

 

            “What’s he doing up at this hour?”

 

            “He’s in the Maternity Ward of Chandler Hospital. My stepbrother now has a little sister.”

 

            “Who’s going to tell Vince?”

 

            “Want to try rock, paper, scissors?” the brunette suggested.

 

~BC~

 

            “Hello,” Vince answered the phone. He frowned. Instead of saying hello, the person on the other end of the line was laughing, uncontrollably. He knew that laugh. It was the same one he’d heard after he’d discovered he’d married Fleming.

 

            “Ruvi,” Vince gritted his teeth. “Anything you’d like to say?” Ruvi took a minute to get control of himself.

 

            “I just wanted to congratulate Chess’ queen. When’s the baby shower?”

 

            “You piece of,” Vince growled as he heard a click. The hypnotist had hung up on him.

He should calm down.

 

            “If there’s a problem, I can kill him for you.”

 

            Vince shook his head as he turned to the man lying next to him.

 

            “Go back to sleep, Chess.”

 

            “You’re assuming that I’m Chess.”

 

            “I can tell you apart by now,” Vince replied.

 

            “Showoff. You didn’t notice any difference before I told you our secret. So, what happened?”

 

            “Someone told Ruvi that we’re expecting.”

 

            “Well, it wasn’t me and it wasn’t Peter.”

 

            “I know and it wasn’t _me_ , so who else knew?”

 

            “That would leave Deveraux, your son, and—”

 

            “ _Orwell_ ,” Vince clenched his hands into fists.

 

            “I’m afraid I can’t let you hurt her, Vince.”

 

            “Can I hurt her computer?”

 

            “By all means, do,” Chess answered, amused. “There’s something else you want to ask me, isn’t there?”

 

            “Peter said that, when Jamie was growing up—”

 

            “That I didn’t interfere in her upbringing? Oh, if only he’d let me. Although, you would think her becoming Orwell would be down to my influence and I am rather proud of her…

 

            “Relax, Faraday. I’m not going to screw up our offspring. Lord knows what Peter would do to me if I tried.”

 

            “Okay.” Strangely enough, the psycho had reassured him. “Goodnight.”

 

            “Wait a minute. We’re both awake. We don’t have to go back to sleep right away.”

 

            “Chess!”

 

            “What? Peter can’t complain about you being unfaithful when we’re the same person.”

 

            “Forget it.”

 

            “Oh come on. Admit it: I’m better than he is.”

 

            “We are not having this discussion.”

 

            “Why not? Couples need to communicate.”

 

            “Yeah, well, couples usually don’t have three participants.” Vince got out of bed.

 

            “Where are you going?”

 

            “On patrol,” he answered, as if it were obvious.

 

            “You’re not going to find anyone more dangerous than me out there.”

 

            “Good. Then you won’t be worried about my safety,” the Cape smirked, as he finished pulling on his costume.

 

            “Do I at least get a kiss goodbye?”

 

            The hero relented and brushed his lips against the other man’s.

 

            “Don’t wait up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Scott Bakula’s “Somewhere in the Night.”
> 
> The scene where Jack is driving and Trip inadvertently makes him lose control for a moment was inspired by one from “Two and a Half Men,” where Judith is driving Jake home and he springs something on her.
> 
> At least writing for The Cape gives me some satisfaction in the face of the drek NBC is trying to push these days. 
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who knows where Elaine’s name came from.


	5. Need to Be a Little Crazy

            “Jamie!”

 

            The blogger grumbled and rolled over in her sleep.

 

            “Jamie!” Rollo tried again, shaking her until she opened her eyes and sat up, her brown hair askew.

 

            “What?” she grumbled.

 

            “Your phone’s ringing.”

 

            She stared at him.

 

            “You could have let whoever it was leave a message!”

 

            “But the display says it’s Vince calling. What if he’s on patrol and he needs help?”

 

            “Then he could have gotten his dear husband to go with him,” she muttered. Or Rollo could have answered it himself if he was so worried about the Cape. Alright, maybe she was a tad cranky upon waking up, but she hadn’t had her coffee yet. She squinted at the clock, grabbed the phone from him and answered it. “It’s a quarter after five in the morning. This better be important!”

 

            “ _Orwell, how the HELL could you tell Ruvi that we were expecting?_ ”

 

            “What are you talking about? I haven’t spoken to Ruvi…” Jamie narrowed her eyes and looked at her boyfriend. Rollo began backing towards the door of the bedroom.

 

            “You get back here!” she hissed. “I specifically told you not to tell anyone!”

 

            “ _Funny, that’s what I remember telling you_ ,” Vince interjected.

 

            “I am so sorry, Vince! That’s what I get for thinking that someone knew how to keep a secret.” Pausing only to grab a robe and slip into it, she followed Rollo into the state of the art kitchen.

 

            “ _Don’t go blaming this on Rollo! You’re the one that blabbed, even though you had the most experience in secret-keeping._

_“Tell me the truth, if I hadn’t accidentally married your father would I ever have gotten your real name?”_

 

            “Yes…maybe…” but probably not, if she were being honest with herself. She sighed. She wouldn’t have been so secretive if she hadn’t been worried about her partner’s reaction to her relation to one Peter Fleming. How was she supposed to know that a few years later they would be giving her a sibling? _Ugh_ , too early in the morning for that thought.

 

            She glared daggers at the back of Rollo’s head. The shorter man was busying himself with making a pot of coffee, which showed that he wasn’t completely suicidal.

 

            “ _I doubt that_ ,” Vince said, reminding her that she was still on the phone.

 

            “You can’t seriously blame me for telling my boyfriend that I’m going to have a brother or sister Vince,” Jamie argued. “And on top of that, he’s your best friend. Weren’t you going to confide in him?”

 

            “ _…Eventually_ ,” Vince sighed. “ _Yes, I was, but he told Ruvi! I am never going to hear the end of this! It’s…_ ”

 

            “I’m sure it could be worse,” she assured her stepfather as Rollo handed her a mug of coffee that proclaimed her the ‘WORLD’S GREATEST HACKER.’

 

            ‘TELL HIM’ Rollo mouthed to her. She looked at him blankly. ‘ABOUT ELAINE,’ the thief continued. Finally understanding, she shook her head and tried to hand him the phone. He backed away out of reach. _Jerk_ , she thought.

 

            “Er, Vince, I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but I received a text from Trip and…”

 

            “ _Is he alright_?” the vigilante asked in concern.

 

            “He’s great,” Jamie bit her lip and then plunged on. “So is his little sister.” She waited for a response.

 

            “ _His **little** sister_ ,” the Cape repeated.

 

            “Her name is Elaine Kirchner; Vince? Are you okay?”

 

            “Of course; I’m happy for Dana and Jack. I have to go finish up patrol. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

            “Goodbye,” Jamie said, before hanging up.

 

~VF~

 

            He was happy for them, he reminded himself. Dana was part of his past. They had both moved on.

 

            Vince had to look on the bright side, he told himself as he changed out of his costume at home. He was in love; between him and Peter they already had two healthy kids that loved them (or loved him, anyway; Vince wasn’t too sure how Jamie felt about her father) and they were expecting another. So what if Ruvi now knew that he and Fleming were having a baby? He could handle Ruvi. Hell, he could hypnotize Ruvi and teach the jackass to mind his own damn business.

 

            Things could be worse.

 

            He crawled into bed beside Peter and fell asleep within minutes.

 

~VF~

 

 

            “Vincent, could you come out here, please? We have company,” Peter called not long after Vince had risen.

 

            “Coming,” Vince called back. He went out into the sitting room and froze.

 

            Things had just gotten worse.

 

            The Jackals were assembled there.

 

~VF~

 

 

            “Please tell me this is a bad dream.”

 

            When Vince had been in the army, which seemed a lifetime ago, he had headed a crack team code-named the Jackals. _More like the team acted like it was on crack_ , he thought, a smile curving his lips. There had been certain instances that he wasn’t too proud of, some of which had led to the signing of a contract that, it was hoped, would keep the Jackals from reuniting after returning to civilian life.

 

            As fate would have it, the contract’s loophole that permitted contact after a third party’s intervention had been triggered a few years ago, on Vince’s wedding night, to be precise. Jake Lofgren happened to have been dating the officiator, who brought him in as a witness.

 

            (Watching Faraday play tonsil-hockey with his groom was one way to learn the former officer was bisexual.)

 

            The fact that Jake was still in one piece was a testament to the fact that he had kept the former Mrs. Faraday from learning of his involvement in Captain Faraday’s nuptials to Fleming.

 

            The entire group wasn’t assembled. Marty, of course, was gone. And the last time Vince had checked, Tom Hartman was a resident in a facility, being treated for compulsive fire-setting. No, wait, it couldn’t be…

 

            “Hiya, Captain!”

 

            “Hartman, since when are you allowed to use Skype?”

 

            “They’re rewarding me for good behavior. I haven’t set anything on fire in…two, three weeks, maybe?” This was a record for him. “And I may have hinted that letting me video chat would keep me from setting fire to the computer…”

 

            “What are you guys doing here?”

 

            “I bumped into a friend of yours at a casino last night,” Lofgren began. “Romanian fellow, what was his name?”

 

            “Ruvi,” Vince supplied through gritted teeth.

 

            “That was it,” Jake nodded.

 

            (Ruvi had met Jake at Vince’s last birthday party. The vigilante suspected he would come to regret that. Truthfully, his amusement outweighed his fear and his anger. It was good to see his old friends again. But the hypnotist had been trying to stick it to him and for that he would pay.)

 

            “So as I was saying, he caught up to me at the slot machines. Imagine my surprise when he said you were having another kid. I had to call the others. If this isn’t a reason to get the gang back together, then I don’t know what is!”

 

            “Is it true? Father Jackal’s going to be a father again?” Gregory Hanson asked. He had flown in from Georgia and was already regretting not taking the road. The plane was faster, but it was also impossible to smuggle a gun aboard.

 

            “So much for being discrete,” Peter muttered. “Don’t tell me you’re here to throw him a baby shower?”

 

            “Some of us aren’t gay,” Winston Greene piped up. “We’re here to get him blind drunk!”

 

            “I beg your pardon?”

 

            “We never got to give him a bachelor party before his second wedding,” Hanson pointed out.

 

            _That’s because there was no period of bachelorhood separating the two marriages_ , Chess observed.

 

            “So we’re absolutely going to party now,” Winny declared.

 

            “I see. If you’d like to use the penthouse—”

 

            “NO!” Vince interrupted Peter before he could finish making the offer. Much as he used to look down on the penthouse, it had become his home, and he’d like it to remain in one piece. The odds of it surviving the presence of so many Jackals unscathed were not good.

 

            “I mean, we’ll go out,” Vince continued quickly.

 

            “Hey, Captain, when do we get to meet the woman carrying the youngest Faraday?” Hanson asked.

 

            “You don’t.” The last thing Vince needed was for Deveraux to meet the Jackals.

 

            “Do you want to hit the—”

 

            “No, we are not going to the casinos,” Vince interrupted Lofgren.

 

            “Spoilsport; do you know if it’s going to be a boy or a girl?”

 

            “Not yet,” Faraday replied as the veterans piled into the high-rise’s elevator. He turned to the others. “I do hope you’re smarter than to let him give you anything other than 50/50 odds on that.”

 

~VF~

 

 

            Back in his room, Hartman frowned at his computer. It was completely unfair that he had to miss out on all the fun because of his mandatory treatment. He debated setting the P.C. on fire. It would satisfy him in the short term, but then he wouldn’t be able to use it for video chatting anymore.

 

            It was best to pick a different target. Maybe this time he could make it look like spontaneous combustion…

 

            Really, he didn’t see why out of the original six men, he was the only one that wound up in an institution. The shrinks would say that they each had their own pathology. Alright, so his involved pyromania; Lofgren was a compulsive gambler; Hanson had a tendency to shoot people and Greene was terribly quick to employ his expertise in demolitions.

 

            The Captain was the only one that was tricky to diagnose, but if pressed Hartman would say that Faraday’s problem was recklessness. Time after time he would get himself into a situation that he might not have been able to walk away from. The incident at the train yards awhile back was a good example: Faraday had come incredibly close to being blown to smithereens. And would anyone have been called to account? No; ARK’s justification was that a dangerous nut had been resisting arrest.

 

            That may have been the case, but was that any reason to kill the man?

 

~VF~

 

 

            Sometime in the dead of night, Vince stumbled back into the penthouse. Not ambitious enough to try for the bedroom, he collapsed onto the couch.

 

            Peter took one look at him, sighed, and roused him enough to be able to half-drag him to their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Avril Lavigne’s “What the Hell”. 
> 
> Well, I am an author of my word. I promised Dragomir that after she wrote “What the Hell Is Going On?” I would have her Jackals make an appearance in “The Baby Carriage.” (Yes, it took me awhile, but I still did it.)
> 
> Now, I don’t want to say that it’ll be months before the next chapter if I don’t get comments, but…


	6. Life's Too Short for This

            Fortunately, the Jackals’ visit didn’t result in any reports of mayhem that Peter would have to suppress.

 

            Jake Lofgren, Gregory Hanson, and Winston Greene didn’t stay in town long after the partying, but they promised to return. (Vince was at least as anxious about this threat as Peter as they claimed to have incriminating photographs of their old captain to show off.)

 

            Tom Hartman, meanwhile, would have to wait awhile before his next Skype session. His computer privileges had been suspended after the orderlies put out his latest fire.

 

~PV~

 

            Deveraux, in Peter’s opinion, does not bitch about the morning sickness nearly as much as you would expect.

 

            “This isn’t my first pregnancy,” she reminded him one day, alluding to her supposed status as his ancestor. Peter remained skeptical.

 

            They were sitting on the couch in the living room of Deveraux’s ARK Tower apartment. A member of Peter’s staff was currently dealing with the unenviable task of cleaning the bathroom.

 

            “And I suppose you’re going to tell me that with repetition one gets better at retching?” the billionaire asked.

 

            “Very funny, Peter. No, but you do get used to the idea that it’s part of the process.”

 

            Peter shook his head, convinced, more than ever, that their surrogate was insane.

 

            He decided Vince could tend to Rebecca’s morning sickness from then on. Perhaps as a bonus Vince would realize what he put Peter through on the occasions he was hung-over and decide to give up alcohol altogether. He would prefer not to have to deal with vomit ever again.

 

            _Then you really shouldn’t be having another child_ , Chess observed.

 

            Peter sighed and silently conceded the point. Although, he was pretty sure that Jamie had kept most of her food down as a child.

 

            _There is a huge difference between ‘most’ and ‘all,’ Peter. Babies throw up. It is right up there with crying and needing their nappies changed. Which reminds me, you won’t need to have a shrink beg me to shut up and go away. I will happily keep to myself for a while after the brat is born._

Peter sighed, as if he had needed further proof that Chess was evil.

 

~PF~

 

 

            “Are you sisters?” the clerk, ‘Megan’ according to her nametag, asked. Jamie was accompanying Deveraux on a trip to buy maternity clothes.

 

            “No,” Jamie scowled. She hurried on before Rebecca could claim to be her mother. “This is my aunt.”

 

            “Ah, my mistake,” Megan apologized.

 

            Jamie, towing several potential purchases along, ushered Deveraux towards the changing area and away from the salesperson.

 

            “She was just noticing the family resemblance,” Rebecca said softly.

 

            “Okay, first of all, what she was doing was looking for a commission. Second, you are way too old to be my sister, so it’s far from a compliment from where I’m standing. And thirdly, the resemblance still creeps me out, couldn’t you, you know…?” she made a vague gesture towards her face.

 

            “Sorry, I make it a rule not to shape shift while I’m expecting,” Rebecca replied. There might not be any studies on the subject, but she doubted it would be good for the baby. “Look, believe it or not, I haven’t tried to imitate you. _You_ resemble _me_ because you inherited some of my genes.”

 

            “Dad always said I took after my mom,” Jamie murmured. She didn’t really remember her mother, but she had much preferred to believe she was like her, rather than her father.

 

            “Her, too,” Rebecca acknowledged. “You certainly didn’t get your eyes from your father.”

 

            “Well, I wouldn’t have. Blue eyes are recessive—”

 

            “It’s been awhile since I had to try clothes on,” Rebecca interrupted the younger woman. “I mean, normally, if clothes don’t fit, I just make them fit.” The immortal went into a stall, tried on an outfit, and emerged a few moments later. “What do you think?” she asked.

 

            “I think that I shouldn’t have been roped into this little shopping expedition.” Neither Vince nor her father had expressed any interest in accompanying Deveraux. Jamie hadn’t been any more enthusiastic about it, but did anyone care? No.

 

            “I meant about the outfit, Jamie.”

 

            “It’s too colorful if you ask me,” she answered, wrinkling her nose at all the pink.

 

            “Hmm,” Deveraux headed back into the stall to try on something less loud. “Have you given any thought to having kids of your own, dear?” she called out.

 

            One of Jamie’s eyes twitched.

 

            “No, I’m too young.”

 

            “You say that, but you’re not immortal. Before you know it, you’ll be in your thirties. Women younger than you have given birth. And I know Peter’s going to want grandchildren soon.”

 

            “Then maybe my sibling will oblige him. I don’t have any plans for settling down with a husband and making babies. Now change the topic or I’m leaving without you.”

 

            “Fine; is this one better?” Deveraux asked, reemerging. The top was nearly identical to the one before, but unlike the offending garment, this one was a deep green.

 

            “Yeah, that’ll do.”

 

            “Great! I hope there isn’t a long line at the checkout. I want to hit the food court next. I’m _starving_.”

 

 

~JF~

 

 

            “We need to talk about names,” Vince said towards the end of Deveraux’s second trimester. He and Peter had retired for the evening. Fleming had been gazing at the ceiling, but he turned and faced his spouse.

 

            “Alright, how about Leorah for a daughter?” he suggested.

 

            “Leorah,” Vince tried out the sound of it. “Not bad; what does it mean?”

 

            “It means ‘light.’”

 

            “Nice, but I was kind of hoping we could name her Cariana, after my mom.”

 

            Peter smiled. So they did think alike in some respects. Leorah had been his mother’s name.

 

            “I tell you what: How about you choose the name for a girl and I’ll choose the name for a son?”

 

            Vince’s blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. It sounded reasonable, which probably meant Peter was up to something. Perhaps he’d found out the sex of the child without telling him.

 

            “And what were you thinking of for a boy?” the vigilante asked. It would be just like Peter, he thought, to pick something horrible that would get a kid teased throughout grade school. If it was something like Quentin, Vince would have to veto it.

 

            “Well, you must admit, ‘Peter’ has a certain ring to it.” He would not smirk; it would not help his case any. Maybe just a little smirk…

 

            “Peter!” Vince scowled.

 

            “You’ve already got a son named after you, Vince,” Fleming pointed out. “I’m sure someday when Trip is grown he’ll go on to have Vincent Faraday the Fourth. Would you begrudge me for naming a son Peter Fleming the Second?”

 

            “Yes, I would. First of all, this kid is going to be a _Faraday_.”

 

            Thus began the heated argument of whose last name the child would take, the upshot of which was that both surnames would be used. (The order of the names still had to be hashed out, but that was being tabled for another time.)

 

            Vince still had misgivings about naming a boy Peter.

 

            “Couldn’t we just name him after my brother?” Vince asked.

 

            “No and now you’re making excuses. I can tell you weren’t dead-set on the name ‘Ian.’” Vince rarely saw his brother anymore and had had no contact with him back when he was faking his death. “What’s really troubling you?”

 

            “When Trip was born, I started telling him about his grandfather, his legacy. I wanted him to be proud of his name,” which, they both knew, was Vincent Faraday the Third.

 

            “I see. You don’t think one could be proud of the name ‘Peter Fleming,’” the billionaire rose from the bed, feeling stung.

 

            “Peter, I just…”

 

            “Just what, don’t have any respect for me? You’re just going to poison our offspring against me from the beginning?”

 

            “Damn it Peter!” Vince thumped a fist against the mattress. “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy! I didn’t force you to kill your victims. I almost _was_ oneof those victims. Forgive me for not wanting my son associated with that madness.”

 

            “Then we have a problem, Vince, because he wouldn’t just be _your_ son, but _ours_. I thought that would make you happy, that it was a brilliant idea. I see that I was mistaken.” Fleming got dressed and left the tower.

 

            He didn’t come home that night.

 

            It was one of the biggest fights they had had in months.

 

            Vince supposed he should be grateful that Chess’ regalia had been left behind. It meant the citizens of Palm City should be safe from the villain’s wrath.

 

            But it also meant Palm City’s hero didn’t have an excuse to chase after him.

 

 

~VF~

 

 

            “Was I wrong?” a morose Vince asked his stepdaughter the next day as they sat in her kitchen. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. When he left the penthouse, Peter still hadn’t returned.

 

            “Vince,” Jamie sighed. “It’s not that you don’t have a point.”

 

            “But?” Vince prompted her.

 

            “But I ran away from home while I was just a teenager so I could get as far away from my father as possible. For years, I didn’t speak to him and he didn’t know if I was alive or dead. And that was without someone else being there while I was growing up to tell me that my father was a horrendous madman. Now imagine if there was, and that someone else was a parent.

 

            “My father’s barely gotten over the fear that he’s going to lose you and not only did you renew it, but you’ve added the fear that he’s going to lose a child all over again.

 

            “Parents may not be allowed to choose favorites, but they don’t treat all their children the same. I know he wants to try to do better by this child, Vince. He’s petrified by the thought of creating another Orwell.”

 

            Vince swallowed under her gaze.

 

            “You know you turned out okay in the end, Jamie.”

 

            “Maybe, despite all odds, but I don’t blame him for not wanting to wake up twenty years from now to find out that his enemy is his son. He needs your support, Vince. He needs to have you believe in him.”

 

 

~VF~

 

 

            When the men came face-to-face again in the penthouse, Vince launched himself at Peter, who clung to him tightly.

 

            In between showering Fleming with kisses, Faraday spoke.

 

            “I’m sorry. If it’s a boy, we’ll name him Peter—”

 

            “You were right,” Peter interrupted him. “I tried to kill you. If I had succeeded—”

 

            “But you didn’t. I’m right here…”

 

            “With a monster,” Peter finished.

 

            “No. The things you did, they were terrible, but you are not just the sum of your actions. You can be more. You _are_ more. I wouldn’t love you if you weren’t.

 

            “And our child will love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Pink’s Blow Me One Last Kiss.
> 
> I assume everyone understands the reference to Vince’s brother?


	7. The Best Luck I Had

_Approximately three months later:_

 

            Peter groped blindly for the cell phone on his bedside table. The incessant ringing had woken him up. The other side of his bed was empty, his husband out patrolling their city.

 

            “Hello,” he answered, still half-asleep.

 

            “Peter, it’s happening!” Rebecca all but yelled into the phone.

 

            “What?” he asked, his blue eyes going wide.

 

            “My water just broke. The baby’s coming!” she hissed.

 

            _Shite._ He wasn’t sure whether the thought was his or Chess’, but that hardly mattered at the moment. He fumbled with the light switch.

 

            “Stay right there. I’ll be downstairs shortly,” he informed her.

 

            “Alright, but hurry,” she urged, right before he hung up.

 

            Peter called another number, even as he shrugged into his clothes.

 

            “ _What is it?”_ the Cape rasped over his headset.

 

            “Hello to you, too, dear; Deveraux’s going into labor,” Peter explained as he headed towards the elevator.

 

            “ _I’ll come straight home_.”

 

            “Don’t bother. You can meet us at the clinic,” Peter rattled off the clinic's name and address as he stepped out of the elevator and into Deveraux’s apartment. Rebecca, he saw, had already thrown on her coat and footwear.

 

            “ _Okay, I’ll… No, I have to stop by home anyway, unless you want the Cape to show up at the delivery room?_ ”

 

            Peter, who was in the process of helping Deveraux towards the door, cursed. He hadn’t thought of that.

 

            “Faraday, if you show up with so much as a mask, I swear to—”

 

            He was cut off by a cry of pain from Deveraux, as a contraction hit her. He hung up and focused on her.

 

            “Alright, it’s okay. Just hang in there.” As they hit the lobby of ARK Tower, Peter barked out an order to one of his men to have a car brought around for them. Within minutes Peter guided the immortal into the backseat and sat beside her. He told the driver their destination and they took off.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Worst case scenario, if Vince did show up as the Cape, they would still be able to do damage control. Peter owned the clinic, of course. But he would prefer not to have to test his employees’ loyalty by asking them to ignore the vigilante’s inexplicable presence at the birth.

 

            There was too much to keep secret. Fleming wouldn’t hear of having the delivery at a public hospital.

 

_Flashback_

 

 

            “There would be too many questions,” he explained to his daughter as they sat in the penthouse. No one outside of their close circle—and the Jackals…and Patrick Portman, with whom Vince had put in a request for paternity leave*—knew he and his husband were expecting. For now, Fleming wanted to keep it that way.

 

            “You mean you don’t want anyone to find out you’ve discovered a way for same-sex couples to biologically reproduce,” Jamie frowned.

 

            “Didn’t you say that the discovery was made by LuthorCorp?” Vince interjected. The two Flemings ignored him. LuthorCorp had never taken credit for the breakthrough made years ago and they weren’t worried about the company getting recognized for the achievement now. Besides which, LuthorCorp had never put the theory to the test. The only specimens produced for the deceased CEO were short-lived, frog-eating clones.

 

            “Dad, do you know how many people this would help? How many couples would want the opportunity that you and Vince have?”

 

            “What I know is that my child is not going to go down in history as a science experiment. He—or she—is not going to go through life as a freak. I will **not** let the media destroy this child’s chance at a normal life!” he banged his fist on the coffee table for emphasis.

 

            “And don’t tell me about all the people this would help,” he continued. “Do you know how many children there are that are waiting to be adopted?”

 

            “I didn’t see you worrying about those children when you spliced your DNA with Vince’s!” Orwell retorted.

 

            “Fine, I’m selfish. Is that what you wanted to hear, Jamie? I am. I realize that I can’t force Orwell to sit on this scientific discovery forever. All I ask is that it wait so that your brother—or sister—won’t be dragged into some scandalous media frenzy as an infant.”

 

            The woman’s brow creased. After so much time spent hiding from the public eye (and her father’s investigators), she didn’t know how to respond to that.

 

            “What do you have to say about this?” Jamie looked at her stepfather expectantly. He shrugged.

 

            “Peter, don’t you already own the press in Palm City? Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, order the reporters to give our family some privacy?”

 

            “People disobey orders, Vince. Yes, I know one would have to be a fool to disobey me and invite my wrath—”

 

            _Don’t you mean mine?_ Chess corrected him.

 

            “—But as satisfying as it is to dole out punishments, it does not keep the damage from being done in the first place. The best way to keep a story from being printed is to keep the press from getting wind of it.”

 

            _That is precisely why there have been no reports of my being a separate personality_ , Chess added. _And, yes, I know the secret identity helps._

 

_End Flashback_

 

~VF~

 

            Jamie wound up driving Vince to the clinic. To Peter’s relief, Faraday was wearing plain clothes when they arrived.

 

            “How is she doing?” Vince asked.

 

            “The doctors say she’s doing fine. Everything is progressing normally,” Peter replied. “Now we just wait. No telling how many hours it will be.” He remembered Danielle had been in labor for roughly twenty hours when Jamie was born.

 

            “I’ll go get coffee,” Jamie volunteered. Her father stopped her with a hand on her arm.

 

            “Thank you. It means a lot to me, you being here.”

 

            “Hey, this is my sibling we’re talking about. Someone has to keep an eye out to make sure you two don’t goof up,” she teased, before going off in search of the cafeteria.

 

            “She was joking, right?” Vince asked after she’d left.

 

            “Partially,” Fleming replied, his lips curving up.

 

 

~PF~

 

 

            “PETER!” Deveraux screamed ten hours later. Both expectant fathers were standing near her bed. “GODDAMN YOU! IF YOU DON’T GIVE ME VISITATION RIGHTS AFTER ALL OF THIS—GAHH!”

 

            “It’s really far too late to negotiate now. So this is the joyous experience you were so fond of repeating,” Peter remarked dryly. “What happened to childbirth being such a wonderful…?”

 

            “SHUT UP!” Rebecca interrupted him.

 

            “I offered her drugs,” the attending doctor, Isabella Groh, said helplessly. “She insisted that she didn’t need drugs for her previous childbirths and she wasn’t going to start now.”

 

            “That’s because it’s been like a thousand years since I last gave bi— _argh_!” She hadn’t remembered the pain being this intense. Was it too late to change her mind about the drugs?

 

            “Okay, Deveraux, breathe,” Vince said. “Remember you practiced breathing.”

 

            Deveraux breathed, in and out, remembering the Lamaze she’d been taught.

 

            “Not helping,” she gritted out.

 

            “She’s dilated. Rebecca, I need you to push through the next one,” the doctor said.

 

            “What?”

 

            “Push,” Groh repeated.

 

            “Already? No, I can’t—”

 

            “Yes, you can,” Peter pointed out. She looked into his face, so like Gregory’s, and nodded. She had done this before. She could do it again. She was starting to feel rather Zen about this.

 

            “Ice chips?” a nurse offered her.

 

            The plastic cup hit the beige wall just as the shape shifter started to push.

 

            “Okay, good, I can see the head,” Dr. Groh announced, either not noticing or not caring about the patient’s outburst. “When the next one comes, push really hard.”

 

            Finally, a cry split the air, expressing all of the anguish at being thrust out of nice, cozy accommodations and into this huge, freezing room with harsh lights, not to mention the indignities of being slapped and manhandled.

 

            Dr. Groh snipped the umbilical cord before the infant was whisked away to have the detritus washed off.

 

 

~PF~

 

 

            Deveraux had forgotten that newborns looked significantly better after they were cleaned up. She looked down at the now clean baby in her arms with undeniable pride.

 

            “May I?” Peter asked, reaching his hands out.

 

            Deveraux thought of refusing, but he had asked, not ordered, and he didn’t seem to have any more energy to start a fight now than she did. (The exhaustion she vaguely remembered from long ago.)

 

            Oh so carefully, Rebecca handed Peter his son. He weighed just less than ten pounds.

 

            The birth certificate would read ‘Peter Faraday Fleming.’ With Faraday substituting for a middle name, the CEO figured the name could be easily abbreviated as ‘Peter Fleming,’ (though that probably hadn’t yet occurred to Vincent). The certificate would also state that Pete’s parents were Vincent Faraday II and Peter Fleming, Sr., with no mention of Rebecca’s role.

 

            The lawyers had discussed adoption with Fleming. Apparently, it was sometimes used in surrogacy cases to make sure that both spouses were legally the child’s parents. Peter thought the notion that either he or his spouse would have to adopt their own son was absurd. But if it did become an issue, he was sure papers could be forged later on.

 

            In the meantime, let people wonder whether Peter or Vince was the biological father. There would probably be competing opinions. Pete, as far as one could tell from the few strands of hair on his mostly bald head, was going to have Fleming’s black hair. But (mercifully) he’d inherited Faraday’s ears. Eyes were difficult to tell early on, as irises could change, but Peter suspected their son would favor the vigilante in that respect.

 

            “You knew about the gender, didn’t you?” Vince accused. “That’s why you had the nursery painted blue.”

 

            “Nonsense; the color was chosen because blue is supposed to be soothing. Chess suggested red, but I didn’t think you’d approve.”

 

            “Yeah, right,” the prison guard replied.

 

            “Are you mad at me?” the older man asked.

 

            “No; nothing is going to upset me today. He’s perfect,” Faraday proclaimed, beaming down at their baby. He sighed, and then added, “even if he does have your chin.”

 

 

~JF~

 

 

            Jamie left after seeing her baby brother. Meeting him, she’d felt a pang—of what, she wasn’t certain. Almost on autopilot, she’d dialed Rollo and asked him to meet her back at the apartment. He was already inside when she got back. She didn’t remember driving home; lucky thing she hadn’t gotten into a collision.

 

            “Is something wrong?” he asked, after they had sat down on the living room couch. He wasn’t sure what to make of the expression on her face. Though he’d known her so long, her face could still be as unreadable as a stranger’s.

 

            She shook her head.

 

            “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been thinking,” she answered her boyfriend. “We’ve been together for a few years now.

 

            “Do you want to get married?”

 

 

***That was not a fun conversation for either participant. Portman never did get over the fact that Fleming had ordered a hit on him and thus didn’t know what Vince saw in the man.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought the only cliffhanger in the story was going to be the baby’s gender.
> 
> Chapter title is from Michael Franti and Spearhead’s “Say Hey I Love You.”


	8. You're My Sweetheart

            “Let me guess: your biological clock’s ticking?” Rollo blurted out. He cringed, not knowing why he had said that. (Of course, he knew why he had _thought_ it. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the proposal came right on the heels of her brother’s birth.) Petrified that he might have blown his chance, he hurried on. “I mean, YES! Let’s get married.”

 

            Jamie frowned and folded her arms. Her boyfriend’s initial reaction hurt, but the worst part was that he wasn’t entirely wrong.

 

            “Okay, if you must know, yeah, I would like to have kids someday. Or _a_ kid…” She hadn’t realized before today that she did want to be a mother. But after seeing Peter Junior… long-forgotten childhood memories of playing House came back to her.

 

            She had focused for so long on protecting the city that she had sublimated her personal dreams. And now that her father had (semi)reformed, semi-salvaging the family name, and since the Fleming lineage was apparently going to continue with or without her help… She realized that she wanted to leave a legacy outside of cyberspace. But first she had to make one thing clear.

 

            “That’s not the only reason that I’m proposing to you, Rollo. We’ve been dating exclusively for almost four years. We’re living together and—”

 

            “And?” Rollo prompted her.

 

            “And we love each other,” Jamie tilted her chin up. “It’s not that I just want to have kids, Rollo. Hell, if that was it, I’d adopt one. I want to be with you, to start a family with you. Do you want that, too?”

 

            “Nothing would make me happier,” Rollo smiled. “Hey! You know what this means? You’ll finally have to introduce me to your father.”

 

            Jamie spent the next several minutes debating the merits of eloping. In the end, she decided against it. Other parts of her fantasy had changed, but she still wanted her father to be there to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day.

 

 

~PF~

 

 

            Chess thought of no fewer than four jokes based on Rollo’s height. However, in accordance with his vow not to resurface until Junior was at least three years old, he kept them to himself.

 

            The meeting with Peter went something like this:

 

            “I understand that you know I’m Chess.”

 

            “Yep,” Rollo shrugged.

 

            “You don’t seem that intimidated.”

 

            “If I could take down Scales, I think I can handle you.”

 

            “That’s what’s giving you confidence? You do know that Raoul is rotting away in the penitentiary on Owl Island?”

 

            “Dad,” Jamie interjected, “enough with the shovel speech! I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself.”

 

            Peter raised an eyebrow and coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “ _Lich_.”

 

            “That doesn’t count,” Jamie frowned. “And, anyway, Rollo helped Vince save me.” That earned the carnie Peter’s respect. 

 

            “So, where are you two going for your honeymoon?” Peter asked.

 

            “We were thinking Silicon Valley,” Orwell teased.

 

            “Actually, we agreed on Paris,” Rollo answered him.

 

 

~JF~

 

 

            Deveraux, having just finished feeding Pete, smirked at the blogger.

 

            “It’s funny, because I distinctly remember you telling me not that long ago that you had ‘ _no plans for settling down with a husband and making babies_.’ Something about you being ‘too young;’ wherever did that attitude go?” the shape shifter inquired, nodding towards the engagement ring on her descendant’s finger.

 

            “In the first instance, just because I’m engaged doesn’t mean I’m going to start having kids right away—or that I’ll start popping them out one after another like you claimed you did.”

 

            “I don’t think I phrased it that way,” Deveraux frowned. “And that doesn’t explain your change of heart.”

 

            “What can I say? Insanity must run in the family.” There had been a time when she would not have been able to say those words in jest, but she was no longer so insecure about her mental stability.

 

 

~MM~

 

 

            “You wanted to see me, Max?” Rollo asked, closing the door of Max’s trailer behind him. He approached his friend’s desk.

 

            “Yes, I did. What is this I hear about Vincent being your best man?” Malini demanded. “It’s not like he asked you to be the best man at _his_ wedding.”

 

            “He was stoned out of his mind at his wedding! It was lucky he remembered his _own_ name, let alone mine,” Rollo pointed out. He was confident that if Vince hadn’t eloped, he would have asked him to be the best man.

 

            “Regardless, what about me? I don’t know if it occurred to you, but we go back a long time. Vincent didn’t come into the picture until after we set up in Palm City,” Max pointed out.

 

            “Max, I’m sorry if I insulted you—”

 

 

~ER~

 

 

            “You can tell me the truth, I won’t feel insulted. I wasn’t your first pick for maid of honor, was I?” Raia asked. The two had become friends over the years (a friendship that grew stronger after they both realized Vince was off the market), but the aerialist suspected the blogger had closer friends.

 

            “Well, no,” Orwell admitted. “I asked Gaylord, but he insisted that a guy couldn’t be a maid of honor.”

 

            “That’s so not true!” the blonde protested. “Remember that movie, the one where he’s secretly in love with the bride? What was it called?”

 

            “I know, I mentioned it to him, but he wasn’t convinced by _Made of Honor_. Go figure,” the brunette shrugged. “So will you do it?”

 

            “On one condition: I get to pick the color of my dress.”

 

            “…Fine, but I still have the final say on the style.”

 

            “Deal,” Raia extended her hand.

 

 

~JF~

 

 

            “Unless you’re going to put off the wedding for a few years, you can’t use your brother as the ring-bearer,” Peter stated. Dark circles had formed under his eyes—“ _the joys of having a newborn_ ,” her father had said when she’d stared.

 

            “Well, we actually don’t want to drag the engagement out that long—”

 

            “Then you’ll have to think of someone else. Unless you want Pete to put the rings in his mouth and choke on them,” he drawled.

 

            “Of course she doesn’t,” Vince walked into the living area, the baby safe in his arms. (Mercifully, Pete was asleep, giving his little lungs a well-deserved break.) There were the hints of bags under Faraday’s eyes, too, but the change wasn’t as noticeable. Jamie figured that, as Palm City’s vigilante, he probably hadn’t gotten much sleep to begin with.

 

            “You should let me handle the rings,” Vince continued in a soft voice, to avoid waking his younger son. “I’m pretty sure it should be part of my duties as best man.”

 

            “I thought you’d decided to share that title with Max,” Jamie replied.

 

            “Rollo offered to make him a second best man and he said ‘no, forget it.’ I think,” Vince gazed at the infant as he spoke, “he’s up to something. Maybe he’s planning on robbing the guests at the reception.”

 

            “No,” Orwell began. “Max wouldn’t—” she stopped, closed her mouth and thought about it.

 

            “I know. Max means the world to me; I owe him my life—”

 

            That got a sharp look from Peter, who had never been told about the time Vince had been kidnapped by Scales. The billionaire made a mental note to get the full story later. (When he did, he was far from pleased, but Vince convinced him not to have Scales killed in his cell.)

 

            “—but we are talking about the leader of the Carnival of _Crime_ ,” he went on. “Maybe I can stash the cape in my tux…”

 

            “Is it too much to want my wedding to go off without a hitch?” Jamie groaned. *****

“It should be a simple matter of figuring out how to keep Malini quiet,” Peter declared. (Really, if anything was going to break Chess’ vow of silence, he thought that would’ve been it. Yet there wasn’t a peep from the maniac.)

 

            “We’re not going to threaten our friend,” Vince responded.

 

            “He doesn’t mean threatening,” Jamie interpreted for her father, “or not necessarily, anyway. Dad knows there are other ways to manipulate people… Oh, I think I have an idea!”

 

 

~JF~

 

 

            The wedding was held at one of Fleming’s resorts. (Churches had been ruled out for fear of triggering a flashback for Orwell. Similarly, much as she had liked the dress in her toxin-induced hallucination, she wanted to be sure her real dress didn’t resemble it too closely. And so on and so forth, though at least the blogger didn’t feel the need to slice herself open to prove she wasn’t dreaming.)

 

            In the end, it was a fairly small affair. Gaylord attended, wearing a tux along with his trademark dyed dreadlocks. So did Deveraux, who was charged with watching over the littlest Fleming for the day. Sitting near the shape shifter were Dana, Jack, Trip, and young Elaine.

 

            Raia, as maid of honor, proceeded down the aisle in an ice blue dress that the bride had consented to. Thankfully, it wasn’t hideous. Jamie’s only stipulation was that it couldn’t be as magnificent as her dress.

 

            The band (sans violins) struck up “Here Comes the Bride,” as Peter walked his daughter ****** down the aisle, towards the groom and the best man and Max.

 

            The blogger had proposed that Max perform the ceremony. After all, it was easy to become certified as an officiant online and she figured this would smooth over any hurt feelings he had for not being chosen as the best man.

 

            She’d figured right. Max, ever the performer, enjoyed having all eyes on him (and the couple).

 

            “Good friends, acquaintances and people I could care less about,” Max saw no reason to call the assembled ‘ _dearly beloved_ ’ (the bar wasn’t even open yet); “we are here today to witness the wedding of this man and this woman…”

 

            “…If anyone wants to object, let him speak now or forever keep his mouth shut…”

 

            Wisely, no one spoke up, although the bride’s eight-month-old brother let out a wail, before Rebecca shushed him.

 

            “Do you Jamie Fleming, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold for richer or poorer—in your case, probably richer—in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, through arrests and arraignments—”

 

            “ _Max_ ,” Rollo groaned.

 

            “—for as long as you both shall live?” Max finished.

 

            “I do,” Jamie smiled.

 

            “I thought you’d say that. And do you, Jarl Rollo…”

 

            “Jarl?” Vince mouthed. It was the first time he’d ever heard his best friend’s first name. Others had equally astonished looks on their faces.◊ The groom stared them down, daring anyone to say anything about his name, _ever_.

 

            “…take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, blah, blah, blah, you know the deal, yes or no?”

 

            “I do,” Rollo replied.

 

            “Good; Vincent, do you still have the rings?”

 

            The couple had seen the logic in dispensing with a separate ring bearer, and relied on Vince to see to the bands. Vince refrained from rolling his eyes as he handed them over.

 

            “…By the power invested in me by the State of Franklin and The Monastery Dot Org, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride!” Max boomed.

 

            The audience cheered as Jamie bent down to kiss her husband.

 

**Footnotes:**

* **Apparently, it wasn’t.**

****For obvious reasons, she was wearing flat shoes.**

**◊Except for Anarchy, a.k.a. Gaylord, who wasn’t in any position to make fun of other people’s names.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaylord/Anarchy is, of course, Dragomir’s OC. Hope it’s okay that I borrowed him.
> 
> The chapter title is from The Lumineers’ “Ho Hey.”
> 
> Since Rollo apparently was never given a first name, I named him after the first Duke of Normandy, whom I suspect was his namesake in the first place. The Monastery Dot Org is a real website, though I am not endorsing it.


	9. Come Down to Earth Again

          “Should they be watching that?” Vince asked, nodding towards the two toddlers—one auburn-haired three-year-old girl, and a younger, black-haired boy, with his thumb in his mouth. Both were sitting, seemingly enraptured, in front of a movie about pirates.

 

          Trip looked towards the half-siblings he’d been babysitting and shrugged.

 

          “They seem to like it.”

 

          “Wouldn’t Elaine prefer something about princesses and fairies?”

 

          “Pete wouldn’t,” Trip pointed out. “And I haven’t heard Elaine complaining.”

 

          “Fair enough; just don’t let your mother find out your sister saw this. She’d say it’s too violent and will cause nightmares.”

 

          Trip remembered a time when having a nightmare meant his father would come into his room and lay with him until he fell asleep. He also remembered the period after his father had been framed, when he would have nightmares about exploding trains and masked fiends. Only when he woke up from those, his father wasn’t there to comfort him.

 

          His siblings would never have to go through any of that.

 

          “Nightmares build character,” Trip said aloud.

 

          “Philosophy won’t keep your mom from grounding you, so you’d better hope Elaine sleeps well tonight.

 

          “In the meanwhile, why don’t you go do your homework?” Vince suggested.

 

          “It won’t take me long. Dad, can we talk first?”

 

          “Sure.” They headed into the teenager’s room. Vince took the chair by the desk and his son sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s on your mind?” Vince asked.

 

          “Were you ever going to tell me that you’re the Cape?”

 

          The elder Faraday’s eyes went wide; the air seemed to whoosh out of his lungs, so he took a deep breath before speaking.

 

          “Wh-what?”

 

          “No; don’t make this worse! Don’t pretend you’re not,” Trip was vehement.

 

          “I was going to tell you—eventually, when you were older…”

 

          “How old exactly? I’ll be sixteen in a few months! Were you waiting for me to go off to college, maybe grad school?”

 

          “I don’t know! Trip, I’m sorry. I should have planned this better, but I swear I wasn’t going to keep it from you forever. You believe me, don’t you?”

 

          Trip looked into his father’s eyes for a moment, assessing, and then sighed.

 

          “Yeah, I believe you.” Ruvi had cast a number of aspersions on his father’s intelligence over the years. Considering the nature of the deception, Trip privately had to concede that Ruvi might be onto something. (When Trip was nine going on ten, a real live superhero made sense. Things seemed very different when you were fifteen going on sixteen.)

 

          “It’s just—you’ve been the Cape all these years…”

 

          “How did you find out?” Vince asked.

 

          “You’re never around when shi—when stuff is going down,” Trip shook his head. “You never bothered to keep Orwell’s identity a secret around here. I started to wonder how you met her and Rollo and the gang. And I figured that was around the time we thought you were dead, which was when the Cape first showed up.

 

          “And I haven’t seen you as the Cape face-to-face in a long time, but I remembered that I still have the surveillance footage from mom’s old apartment building.

 

          “It recorded sound too, you know. And you never did that good a job disguising your voice. You tried to lower it a little, I guess, but when you’re listening for it, you hear the similarities.” (He’d then talked to a somewhat inebriated ‘Uncle’ Max to confirm his suspicions, but his dad didn’t need to know that.)

 

          “Dad, long underwear and a cape, seriously?” Trip teased.

 

          “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Vince defended himself. “It let me see you, speak to you again. And Peter, too, though it was for a different reason back then.”

 

          “What do you mean?” Trip asked.

 

          “If you know about me, it’s probably time you knew the truth about Peter, too.” Vince bit his lip. “But—”

 

          “You’d have to swear it doesn’t leave this room,” Peter interrupted, entering and closing the door behind him.

 

          “Peter, I didn’t hear you come home,” Vince said.

 

          “Clearly; really, Faraday, if he’s going to know this, it should come from me.”

 

          “Maybe this was a bad idea. He’ll hate you,” Vince whispered.

 

          “He’s a teenager; I’m his stepfather. He’s going to hate me either way. Let it be for a legitimate reason, at least.” Fleming sat on the bed near his stepson and faced him.

 

          “Trip, I am,” he cleared his throat, “that is, I used to be Chess.”

 

          “What?!”

 

          “I’d say your father’s rather cured me of my villainous tendencies over the years. Why, I haven’t killed anyone since—honey, do you remember the last person I killed?” Peter turned to his husband.

 

          “You’re screwing this up,” Vince answered.

 

          “Well, if there’s any _good_ way to explain a past as a serial killer—in fact, as the serial killer who wrecked your home—why don’t you enlighten me?”

 

          “I might be sick,” Trip squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them. No, he wasn’t actually nauseous, but he was disgusted. “Dad, have you known about him this whole time? How the hell could you marry Chess?”

 

          “Now don’t blame him. We were both rather inebriated at the time,” Peter explained, as if that made everything better.

 

          “Again, not helping, dear,” Vince chastised his husband.

 

          “Well, excuse me!” Peter threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “I don’t exactly make a habit of telling people about Chess!”

 

          “Look, let me speak to Trip. You go look after the rug rats. Somebody should be keeping an eye on them.”

 

          “Fine,” Peter acquiesced, heading out of the teen’s bedroom.

 

          “Dad, I don’t understand,” Trip said. “You hated Chess. You told me he was evil. You said you were going to get him—I didn’t think you meant you were going to get him to marry you!”

 

          “No, that wasn’t what I had in mind,” Vince gave a half-smile. “I know this is hard for you to digest. But Peter and I fell for each other and he’s not the monster he used to be. Come with me. Let me show you something.”

 

          He lead his son back out into the living room, where Peter was holding their son on his lap. Pete Junior smiled at the face above him, gurgling, “Papa!”

 

          “Tell me what you see,” Vince said to his namesake.

 

          “They love each other,” Trip acknowledged. And he knew in that instant that he had the power to do exactly what Fleming had done to him—he could separate father and son by bringing in the (federal) authorities and telling them who Chess was. But he didn’t have it in him; couldn’t devastate his little brother the way he had been devastated years ago. He turned to his father.

 

          “How’s Pete going to feel when he learns the truth about his ‘Papa’?”

 

          “We’ll tell him when he’s older,” Vince answered. “And in the meantime, we’re not going to vilify Chess. I know—Chess did horrible things and we’re not going to lie about them. We’re not going to pretend they were justified. But you can hate the action without hating the person.”

 

          Trip looked again at his baby brother. Pete continued to smile up at his Papa. But then the smile disappeared; the boy’s face scrunched up in pain and he began to wail.

 

          “Vince!” Peter called. “Get the—”

 

          “Teething ring,” Vince finished for him, “coming right up.”

 

          Elaine, meanwhile, made her way over to Trip, scowling. It was eerie how much that scowl resembled their mother’s.

 

          “Twip! Wan’ go home!” She raised her little hands over her ears to block out the noise.

 

          “Play date’s over,” Vince Faraday the Third observed. “Don’t worry; Mom should be picking us up soon.”

 

          “Why’s your bwother so loud?” she moaned.  (She accepted that the brother of her brother was not her sibling, even though she had no idea how that worked.)

 

          “He’s in pain. His teeth are coming in; you remember what it was like when your teeth were growing?” The little girl stared back at him blankly. “Of course you don’t.” _She probably thinks she behaved like a little angel._

 

* * *

 

 

_Three years later:_

 

          “You’re kidding,” Vince said, staring at Peter.

 

          “No, I’m not. See for yourself,” he handed the newspaper to the younger man.

 

          “They’re making a movie about me?” The vigilante’s expression was somewhere between confused and ecstatic.

 

          “Don’t flatter yourself. They’re making a movie about the comic book you copied from.” He sneered, as if saying, _whereas I didn’t have to steal my idea._

 

          “Graphic novel,” Vince corrected him automatically.

 

          “Same difference,” the billionaire maintained. “I suppose the kids will want to see it when it comes out.”

 

          “I don’t know about Pete, but Trip won’t. He’s not too fond of the Cape anymore.”

 

          “That is because teenagers’ parents aren’t allowed to be ‘cool.’ He’ll get over it,” _he still loves you_. “You’re still his father. Make him take his brother to the movie.”

 

          “Because ordering him around will make me seem cool?”

 

          “No, because that way he’ll have an excuse for seeing the movie, which he’ll no doubt secretly want to see anyway.”

 

          “What makes you say that?” the hero asked.

 

          “I say that because instead of hiding copies of _Playboy_ under his bed like normal teenage males, he’s stashing copies of that comic book,” Peter sighed. “He’s like you: Once a nerd, always a nerd.”

 

          “Hey, watch who you’re calling a nerd, chess boy!”

 

          “I call it like I see it. Just because you, Vincent, were popular in grade school—”

 

          “While poor little Fleming must’ve been teased mercilessly by his peers.”

 

          “Don’t be absurd. The heathens I went to school with were not my peers.”

 

          “Poor Peter,” Vince slung an arm around the brunette’s shoulder. “I’ll bet you were cute as a kid.”

 

          “Something like Pete, I suppose,” Fleming replied, “except he’s had the good fortune to have inherited your smaller ears, so perhaps he won’t be tormented when he starts school in September.”

 

          “So long as you don’t push him to play chess,” Faraday teased.

 

          “I won’t, if you’ll agree not to push him to play American football in a few years.”

 

          “He’s just starting kindergarten. High school’s a long way off,” the former high school quarterback pointed out.

 

          “It’ll go quickly, and you didn’t give me an answer.”

 

          “Oh, alright, you have a deal. We will let Pete make his own decisions.” Vince frowned as the doorbell rang. “Were we expecting company?”

 

          “Not that I’m aware of. I’ll go see who it is.” He walked down the hall to check. “It’s Jamie!” Vince heard a few moments later. “And her husband,” Peter eventually added as an afterthought.

 

          Once they were all settled comfortably in the living area and had gotten the greetings and small talk out of the way, Jamie said she had an announcement to make.

 

          “I’m pregnant!” she grinned.

 

          “That’s great! Congratulations to both of you!” Vince exclaimed, first hugging Jamie and then fist-bumping Rollo. “Isn’t that great, Peter?” Vince added, when he realized he hadn’t heard anything from his spouse. He turned to look at him.

 

          Peter was glaring daggers at his son-in-law. Vince had a feeling that, with the simple additions of a mask and a pair of contacts, you would have precisely the last image that Chess’ victims ever saw.

 

          Rollo remained unperturbed.

 

          “Yes, wonderful news,” Peter gritted out. “Congratulations!”

 

* * *

 

 

          “I don’t get your reaction earlier today,” Vince said as the two headed for bed that evening. “I thought you would have been looking forward to being a grandfather.”

 

          “I was—I am,” he sighed. “I just didn’t think Jarl would be the child’s father. I thought Jamie might have left him for someone else. She could have done better, you know.”

 

          “She’s happy with Rollo,” Vince countered. “She wants you to be happy for them.”

 

          “…Then I will be.”

 

          “What about the becoming a grandfather thing—you worried it will make you seem old?” the blonde asked.

 

          Peter decided to hold off on pointing out that the birth would also make Vince a grandfather by marriage.

 

          “Old? I am hardly old, Faraday. I’m certainly not too old to do this.” And with that, he mashed their lips together, as his hands started trailing along the hero’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’ll end the chapter there, where we can still keep the T rating.
> 
> Chapter title is from Rodgers & Hammerstein’s “Ten Minutes Ago.”
> 
> I’d like to take this opportunity to encourage you to visit the- cape- meme dot livejournal dot com (no spaces). Leave prompts, fills, browse, enjoy!


	10. The Most Amazing Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some minor spoilers for 'The Lone Ranger' in this chapter.

            _“What’s with the mask?”_

 

            Five-year-old Pete giggled at the movie’s running gag. His parents, on either side of him on the living room couch, were not so amused by _The Lone Ranger_ ’s joke. (Vince was uncomfortably reminded of how people tended to mock his alter ego’s name. It happened less frequently as the years had gone by, but it still happened from time to time.)

 

            And it got worse. Vince thought that watching the movie would be fun, but some of the lines hit a little too close to home. The whole idea of a man having to pretend to be dead and to hide his face stirred up bad memories. His husband must have seen his eyes moisten because he reached an arm around their son to rest his hand on Vince’s shoulder.

 

            “Vince,” Peter said, commanding the younger man to look at him, and Vince knew what Fleming was silently trying to communicate: _I’m sorry for what I put you through_.

 

            Fleming knew he couldn’t apologize enough. When he had framed Vince*, all those years ago, he hadn’t considered what he was doing—well, he had thought about how it would benefit _him_ , but he hadn’t thought about the consequences the Faradays would face, hadn’t given a damn about their suffering.

 

            He had tried to picture it since then. Maybe he did have some idea of what they had gone through; he had, after all, lost his wife and his daughter had renounced him and disappeared. But then he would forget about what he had done. He would immerse himself in the present, with his family, together and happy and it was nigh on impossible to reconcile the present with what he had done to Vince. If he dwelled on it, he would be perpetually worried that Vince would divorce him and leave (or try to).

 

            Maybe Vince did his best to forget the past, too. It would explain why he voluntarily stayed so long.

 

            Vince took a deep breath, not taking his eyes from Peter’s, and silently sent a message back. _I’m alright now. I forgive you. I’m not going anywhere._

 

            They turned their attention back to the movie and somehow managed to enjoy it. Then Vince frowned at the screen.

 

            “Peter, doesn’t that guy kind of look like you?”**

 

            It was Chess that turned back to Vince, looking appalled at the suggestion that he resembled the bedraggled minor character.

 

            “He bloody does _not_ , Faraday; that isn’t funny.”

 

            Vince’s eyes widened. He had recognized the change and realized that this was the first time Chess had taken control around Pete. Dimly, he acknowledged he should feel frightened that the monster was showing himself around his child, but he didn’t. He knew instinctually that Pete would be safe with him—and so would he.

 

            Just as he was about to greet the man, the movie was interrupted by a commercial break. Vince’s mouth dropped open as the preview for the upcoming movie, _The Cape_ , began. He was riveted. He grinned as the ad came to an end and faced his husband, who was scowling.

 

            “What’s wrong?” Vince asked.

 

            “Didn’t you notice? There was a distinct lack of yours truly in the preview,” Chess glared at the television set.

 

            “I think that’s because you weren’t a character in the comics,” Vince said gently.

 

            “So what?”

 

            Vince sighed, accepting that he wouldn’t be able to explain this to the other man’s satisfaction. As far as Chess was concerned, he was being slighted.

 

            “Never mind, just…don’t kill anyone for this, okay?”

 

            “…What if I just—?”

 

            “No.”

 

            “You didn’t let me finish.”

 

            “Doesn’t matter; the answer’s still ‘no.’”

 

 

* * *

 

            The 4th of July found them watching fireworks on T.V. They could have gone to see them in person—these fireworks were not being broadcast from New York or Boston or D.C., they were being set off by Palm City’s shoreline, but it seemed more convenient to enjoy them in the privacy of their home, without getting swarmed by the crowds.

 

            Well, Vince was enjoying them, anyway.

 

            “Would you mind not encouraging our son to believe that the U.S. is vastly superior to England?” Peter asked.

 

            “Guess Independence Day isn’t your favorite holiday, huh?” Vince mused.

 

            “No kidding,” the Brit scoffed. “Why would I want to honor some deceased imbeciles who thought it would be prudent to throw away tea?”

 

            “In all these years, I’ve never seen you drink tea…”

 

            “Irrelevant,” Peter shook his head. “And how would you like it if the British commemorated the day by celebrating the fact that we were no longer saddled with the Americans?”

 

            “Okay, you know what I don’t get?” Vince asked, turning away from the television to face his husband. “If you despise this holiday so much, why did you pay for the fireworks?”

 

            “Because advertising doesn’t get any better than ARK Corp. Fireworks,” Peter grinned. “Am I right, son?” he asked, turning to the little one.

 

            Pete Junior didn’t answer, too busy being enthralled by the spectacle on screen—explosions in all the colors of the rainbow, glittering in the night sky. Here was proof that magic wasn’t confined to those fairytales Elaine liked so much; magic was real.

 

            Fireworks were awesome. He had only been half-listening to what his parents were saying, but something stood out.

 

            “You paid for the fireworks, Papa?” Pete asked, his voice full of awe.

 

            “I did,” Peter replied, not bothering to distinguish that it was the corporation funding the event and that he didn’t actually own 100% of the company. It didn’t make much difference to him and it certainly wouldn’t make any difference to the child.

 

            “Great; now you’re going to be the ‘cool parent,’” Vince groaned.

 

 

* * *

 

            Jack Kirchner fought back a grimace.

 

            He had arrived at Owl Island Penitentiary to visit with some of his clients. Naturally, this required going through security first.

 

            But why, _why_ did his wife’s ex-husband have to be the one on duty? This never happened at the ARK Detention Facility.

 

            “Hello, Vince.”

 

            “Jack,” Vince nodded back.

 

            “Aren’t you usually patrolling the cells?” Jack asked. He mentally chastised himself for the remark. He did not need to antagonize the man.

 

            “Most of the time, yes,” Faraday replied, quite unruffled. “I’m filling in for someone today. It happens from time to time.”

 

            Alright, so Faraday seemed to be decent enough. But still, he was Dana’s ex-husband! There was no way dealing with the man couldn’t be awkward.

 

            He didn’t seem to resent Jack, though. And he had moved on in his life, as evidenced by him getting remarried and having another child. So ostensibly he wasn’t pining after Dana, but could you ever be certain of that?

 

            “Do you have anything in your pockets?” Vince asked, breaking Jack from his thoughts.

 

            “Uh,” Jack had removed everything that would set off the metal detector he was about to go through. And he had put into his locker anything he wouldn’t expect to get past security (such as his bag and his wallet). But his pants pockets might not be 100% empty. He reached inside and came up with a handkerchief and, at Faraday’s direction, laid it with his papers by the X-ray machine. (Who the hell cared if he had a handkerchief in his pocket? It wasn’t like it was a vital part of some intricate plot to sneak one of his clients out of prison... He supposed he could amuse himself trying to come up with such a hypothetical plot if he got stuck waiting awhile for a visitor’s room, _again_. Damn them for not allowing him to take any books or magazines to read while they kept him waiting.)

 

            That accomplished, he was waved through the metal detector. Success; he hadn’t set it off this time. There had once been some trial and error as he learned which articles of clothing, i.e. belts and, for some reason, one particular pair of shoes, were apt to set the damn thing off. He learned quickly to avoid wearing them on days he expected to make the trip out here.

 

            Jack turned to pick up his things.

 

            “Hold out your left hand,” Faraday instructed him. He had almost forgotten about the hand stamp (in invisible ink only legible under U.V. light). Jack tensed, half-afraid that the guard would slam the stamp down with enough force to crush his hand… but he didn’t.

 

            Vince raised an eyebrow, wondering why Kirchner was acting so skittish.

 

            “Okay, you can sign in now.”

 

            “Right,” Jack nodded, heading towards the book and digging his clients’ registration numbers out of his folder. Vince had said he worked this post from time to time, oh lord, did Dana run into him, too? _Don’t think about that now._ “So, uh, you hear from Trip lately? How’s college going for him?”

 

            “Not too shabby. Although he could be doing better in math…”

 

 

* * *

 

            “Aren’t you going to check that?” Gerry Blander asked his roommate. Trip’s phone had chimed with a text alert.

 

            “Where is it?” Trip asked.

 

            The Palm City University dorm room was typical of those shared by two teenage males—a complete and utter mess, which was probably in violation of the health code. The phone was just peeking out from where it was sandwiched between a pile of textbooks and a half-empty pizza box on the dorm’s table.

 

            “Here,” Gerry, who was closer, picked the phone up and started to hand it to his roomie, but what he saw on the screen made him freeze. “Trip,” Gerry said slowly, “why would you get a text saying ‘ **Orwell’s in the hospital. Come now** ’?”

 

            “Ugh,” Trip groaned. Maybe if he could just ignore the text…They couldn’t really expect him to drop everything and dash out just because Jamie had gone into labor, could they? He’d been hoping to see if Allison had any plans for the evening.

 

            The phone chimed again. Both teens glanced at it.

 

            **Trip, you are NOT missing the birth of your niece/nephew. Get down here!**

“I wouldn’t be the uncle, I would be the step-uncle, if that’s even a word,” the sociology student mumbled. He glanced up at the IT major’s stunned face.

 

            The two former neighbors had been best friends since the night they’d shared a carton of ice cream during a blackout, back before high school, before their voices had dropped or their growth spurts had hit. They’d bonded back when their classmates had thought them everything from ‘weird’ to ‘delusional’ and had been through a lot since then. And Trip had hidden a secret of this magnitude from him?

 

            “Your stepsister is Orwell?!”

 

            “I don’t know why we still call her that; she hasn’t posted to that blog since what, before Pete was born? Look, it’s not that big a deal,” Trip shrugged. For all of her talents, Jamie had never really impressed him.

 

            “‘Not that big a deal,’” Gerry repeated, dumbfounded. Trip was on a first-name basis with possibly the greatest hacker of all time and he thought it wasn’t a big deal. Well, at least Gerry could forgive him for neglecting to mention that “little” detail.

 

            “Anyway,” Trip went on, “ _apparently_ I have to go down to the hospital now, so…”

 

            “I’ll give you a ride,” Gerry offered.

 

            “Thanks, man,” Trip said, following Gerry out of the dorm and towards the parking lot.

 

            “No problem,” Gerry replied. After he slid behind the wheel and they were both buckled up, he asked, “Did you ever confront your father about him being the Cape?”

 

            Trip nearly gave himself whiplash as he turned to his friend.

 

            “How did you…?”

 

            “Dude, I was the one that set up that surveillance camera, remember?” Blander asked as he drove.

 

            Gerry got his friend to the hospital in plenty of time for Trip to welcome his nephew, John Rollo Fleming, to the world.

 

 

*There was only so much blame he could place on Chess. Peter, after all, had come up with the plan to fake Chess’ death (partly in the vain hope that Chess would magically disappear).

 

**No, he does not. People need to stop wasting _Cape_ actors in cameos that are so small you can’t even recognize them. As it is, if Dragomir hadn’t informed me about it after I’d seen the movie, I would still have no idea that James Frain was remotely involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Fun’s “Some Nights.”
> 
> Thanks to Dragomir for, i.e., looking up Gerry’s name for me!
> 
> Hey, look, the fic is more than a year old. 
> 
> That’s chapter ten. Some time ago, I vowed that this fic would have thirteen chapters, one for each of the thirteen episodes we were originally promised. As you may have surmised, I am running out of ideas. So I am asking you to help me fulfill my goal. If you have any suggestions for the fic, please let me know. 
> 
> And please drop by The Cape Meme on LJ. So far we’ve only had prompts from myself and one other brave individual and zero fills. I know we can do better than that.


	11. Raise Your Glass

            “Honey, do you ever run into Vince when you go to Owl Island?” Jack asked.

 

            “Sometimes,” Dana nodded. “I remember the first time, it wasn’t that long after we’d gotten divorced and he’d gotten the job there. I was wearing that orange suit—you know the one. And he’s working security at the front and he stops me and says I can’t go in there wearing that because the color’s too close to what the prisoners wear.”

 

            “What happened?” Jack asked.

 

            “I asked if we could talk privately and he learned not to make that mistake again.”

 

~VF~

 

 

            Jamie let out a little moan of pleasure as she put down her bottle.

 

            “Do you know that that’s the first beer I’ve had in about a year?” she asked the vigilante. “Last one I had was before John was conceived. Let me tell you—I love him and all, but you’re lucky you didn’t have to go through pregnancy and childbirth.” She’d finally lost the weight that she’d gained (or at least most of it).

 

            Not that her body was back to normal, as she was still breastfeeding. _Oh, mental note: No breastfeeding John until after the beer’s out of my system._ Maybe she should make a note of it on her iPhone, too, to be on the safe side… But they had stocked up on formula and she couldn’t imagine herself making such a stupid mistake (or Rollo letting her make it).

 

            “Deveraux’s always spoken highly of it,” Vince countered, bringing her attention back to the conversation.

 

            “Deveraux’s out of his freakin’ mind,” Jamie insisted, before picking the bottle up again and taking a long pull. Their husbands were watching their respective kids tonight, allowing the two partners to catch up. And so they had gone to a bar for the first time in a long time.

 

            “Could be,” Vince assented. “Is John sleeping through the night yet?”

 

            “Oh, I wish,” Jamie scowled. “I can’t remember ever relying so heavily on coffee—not even when we were in full swing war mode against Dad.”

 

            “Is that a good idea?” Faraday frowned. “Having all that coffee if you’re breastfeeding?”

 

            “Vince, I _need_ my coffee. I tried cutting down on it during the pregnancy; it was not pretty. You can ask Rollo.”

 

            He shook his head. That poor kid was going to wind up addicted to coffee before ever sampling it firsthand. He was about to suggest that she either switch to decaf or stick to giving her son formula when she asked:

 

            “This is going to get easier, right?”

 

            “You mean parenting?” Vince smiled. “Well, eventually he will start sleeping regularly. And before you know it, your days of diapering will be behind you and he’ll be able to talk instead of wailing incoherently whenever he needs something.”

 

            “I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

 

            “But there will be other concerns. Learning how to talk means he’ll also learn how to talk back and it doesn’t mean that he isn’t going to fall back on crying and screaming when he’s upset or frustrated. In a few years, he’s going to start school and you will have to keep an eye out to make sure he’s keeping up with his homework and that he’s not getting bullied—or worse, becoming a bully himself.

 

            “And then you’ll turn around and he’ll be a teenager. He’ll be getting interested in girls—or boys—and just when he has lost all respect for your opinions, you’ll have to convince him to behave responsibly, despite his hormones.

 

            “Then he’ll start college, move out, and if you’re lucky, won’t disappear from your life altogether,” as she had done from Peter’s went unspoken. Before Jamie could get defensive and assert that it was her father’s fault, he continued, “and you’ll look back on when he was this tiny little baby and wish you could relive those days again.”

 

            Jamie peered at her stepfather.

 

            “I’m not sure if your grandson would have been born if we had this conversation a year ago,” she joked. She noticed Vince’s twitch. “Oh, come on. You know he’s going to look at you as a second grandfather.”

 

            “I’m not old enough to be your father, let alone Rollo’s,” Vince said, before sipping from his own bottle.

 

            “Even better; he won’t complain about how old and broken-down you are. You might stand a chance of keeping up with him,” the blogger gestured for the bar tender to bring them more chips to go with their beer. “So, I heard you finally saw the movie. How was ‘ _The Cape_ ’?”

 

            “You haven’t seen it?” he asked, surprised by this news. How could anyone skip the movie? And she wasn’t just anyone, she was Orwell. If not for her, he would never have donned the cape in the first place. (Of course, he also would have started working for ARK and would probably still be married to Dana…)

 

            “Hello, I’ve been busy taking care of a newborn. This is the first night out I’ve had in forever. When would I have seen the movie?”

 

            “Right, I should have known that,” he said sheepishly. “I guess you could always see it on DVD when it comes out.”

 

            “So how was it?” she prompted.

 

            “It was…good,” he replied.

 

            “Just good?” she raised an eyebrow. “Under the circumstances,” meaning that he was the Cape, “I thought you would be over the moon by now. They botch it up somehow?”

 

            “Well, not exactly. The actors knew what they were doing, the sound track was great, the lines weren’t all that cheesy, and someone’s probably going to win an award for those special effects. It’s just… I mean, it’s nothing, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it back when I was with Dana but…”

 

            Jamie looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

 

            “In the movie, the Cape’s love interest was a woman,” he shrugged. “I mean, it’s not that surprising. It was the same in the comics and it’s the same with every other superhero movie. But Peter didn’t take it well.” Being the husband of the actual Cape, Fleming had taken it as another snub (the first imagined one being that Chess wasn’t included in the movie).

 

            Of course, no one knew that Peter was married to the Cape. For that matter, “no one knows the Cape is bisexual,” Vince said, lowering his voice. “I mean I, _he_ hasn’t exactly announced he’s in a same-sex marriage, so we can’t expect Hollywood to know that, and even if the writers did, this was hardly supposed to be a documentary or ‘based on a true story,’” he sighed. “It shouldn’t bother me.”

 

            “But it does bother you,” the brunette observed. “Do you want me to write about the Cape’s sexuality on the blog?” Vince looked like he was about to start choking. “Calm down! I’m serious. Look, it’s not like I’m going to announce that the Cape’s married to Chess,” she said the last in a whisper. “But _clearly_ this is getting to you and the movies Hollywood has been churning out have been overwhelmingly heteronormative.”

 

            Vince blinked, trying to count the number of syllables in ‘heteronormative.’

 

            “How the hell can you pronounce that word after that much beer?”

 

            “There’s more caffeine in my system than alcohol right now,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Listen, I won’t post anything about this if you don’t want me to, but I think you should think about it. Think about how it might be easier for men and women to come out of the closet if the Cape already has. Think about how this movie made you feel and remember that the Cape will have the same sexuality if not the same partner in the sequel—”

 

            “They haven’t announced that there’s going to be a sequel,” he interrupted.

 

            “Please, did you see how the movie did at the box office? I have, and I didn’t even read any reviews. Trust me, a sequel’s inevitable. Might even be more than one, you know how they like to milk a franchise for all it’s worth. Maybe a blog entry won’t change the course of the series, but it would at least get people thinking about it.

 

            “Although frankly,” she continued, “I’m not sure that everyone assumes the Cape is straight. For a while there, people were positive the vigilante was gay.”

 

            “Because of Chess?” he asked, his mouth agape.

 

            “Don’t be ridiculous, Vince. No one suspects the truth,” _thank god_. “No, because there were rumors going around that Orwell and the Cape were an item,” she thumped him on the back when he started coughing and waited for him to stop before going on. “And everyone ‘knows’ Orwell’s a man, right?” Her tone was only slightly bitter.

 

            “Hm, seems to me you’re a lot more bothered about the fact that everyone assumes Orwell’s male,” the former cop remarked. “If you really want to set the record straight, so to speak, why don’t you start with that?”

 

            She stared at him.

 

            “It’s been good for my cover! No one’s ever suspected me because they have automatically ruled out all women—”

 

            “And you needed that cover back when your father had no idea who you were and he was the enemy, but that hasn’t been the case in a long time, has it? We are sitting here talking about your blog now, but you hardly even post to it anymore—and don’t blame that on the baby, this goes back to way before you got pregnant.

 

            “You came up with ‘Orwell Is Watching’ to combat your dad and you’ve long ago declared a truce.”

 

            “So you’re saying I should, what? Retire the blog?”

 

            “I’m saying, to a large extent, you already have. Now, I’m not telling you to post your identity on there or to announce that the blog is finished, I’m just saying, this _clearly_ bothers you…”

 

            “Nobody likes it when you use their own words against them, Vince. Alright,” she ran a hand through her hair. Vince was right. It **did** bother her that everyone assumed Orwell was a man without ever considering the alternative. She knew the name sounded masculine, but it still seemed so sexist and it had been getting on her nerves for years. “I’ll think about it if you think about the other thing. Deal?”

 

            “Deal,” Vince nodded and they clinked their bottles together.

 

 

~PF~

 

 

_Several years later:_

 

            “Are you sure you’re doing this correctly?” Amanda asked her classmate. Peter Faraday Fleming’s class had been tasked with drawing up their family trees. Pete and Amanda were currently looking over each other’s work and something seemed fishy to the pre-teen girl.

 

            “What, you didn’t know about me having two fathers?” Pete raised one black eyebrow above a startling blue eye. He knew that he had the most famous family in the city, though his dad, and his sister, and Elaine kept telling him not to let it go to his head. (Pa didn’t seem too worried about his ego, though.)

 

            “It’s not that,” she shook her head. Yes, she _had_ seen pictures of his parents on the web; everyone had. Besides, Pete wasn’t the only one at her school with two parents of the same sex. It might not be the norm, but it wasn’t exactly shocking. And even the city’s resident vigilante, the Cape, was gay or swung both ways or something. “No, see here? The way you’ve written this, it says you’re an uncle.”

 

            “I am,” Pete nodded.

 

            “But you’re only twelve!”

 

            “So? My sister had John before I turned six,” he shrugged. “Pa had Jamie way before me. So there’s a big age difference between me and my siblings and a smaller one between me and my nephew.”

 

            “That’s kind of weird,” she told him bluntly.

 

            “I guess you get used to it.”

 

            “Do you ever even see your siblings?” Amanda asked. “I mean, they don’t live at home with you, do they?”

 

            “No, they don’t, but I still see them,” Pete replied. “They drop by the penthouse often enough. And sometimes we visit Jamie and Rollo and other times we go see Trip and—”

 

            “Trip?” Amanda asked.

 

            “It’s my brother’s nickname.”

 

            “Oh! I was going to say your parents must’ve hated him to name him ‘Trip.’ How did he get a nickname like that?”

 

            “His real name is Vince Faraday the Third, hence ‘Trip;’ he got named after Dad and I got named after Pa.”

 

            “Your parents aren’t that original, are they?” she asked.

 

            Pete thought about the comic book character Dad had chosen to embody and smirked.

 

            “You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Dragomir gets credit for being the first to figure out Trip’s actual name. D also gets credit for the rumors surrounding Orwell, the Cape, and the Cape's sexuality, as well as for inspiring the chapter’s last scene. The bar scene, however, is dedicated to Orwell, who asked for some Vince & Jamie bonding.
> 
> The chapter title is from Pink’s “Raise Your Glass.”
> 
> Once again, I encourage you to submit suggestions for the fic and for The Cape meme!


	12. Do the Unpredictable

            It was the day after Trip had announced his engagement to Helena. His father had invited him to the penthouse, saying he had a surprise for him.

 

            Surprise didn’t quite cover it.

 

            “No, you’re… you’re not serious,” Trip shook his head, looking up from the opened box to his father’s face.

 

            “I am. I’ve been thinking about this for some time. I’ve known for a while now that this was going to be yours one day. I think today’s the day. You’re ready,” Vince proclaimed.

 

            “I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me that because I’m getting married that somehow makes me vigilante material?” Trip’s voice got louder as he thrust the cape, box and all, into his father’s arms. “What, is this supposed to be some kind of wedding present?!”

 

            “I don’t know why you’re upset, Trip. I thought you would be happy—”

 

            Maybe there was a time when Trip would have been excited at the prospect of taking on the mantle. Hell, even after learning his father’s secret, the Cape had still been his favorite hero, but…

 

            “Dad, I realized something that I should have figured out when I saw you _die_ on the morning news—life isn’t a goddamn comic book!”

 

            “I never said it was!” Vince retorted, starting to get riled in turn. Even after all these years, they never could seem to put the explosion and its aftermath behind them. It wasn’t like Vince had _asked_ for his name to be tarnished or his life and his family imperiled. “I know perfectly well this is the real world. And the Cape has done some actual good for the people of this city over the years! Don’t you stand there and brush that aside like this is all some joke!”

 

            “Then why don’t you continue to be the one helping the city?” Trip demanded, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re the one that loves being the Cape.”

 

            “And I’ve been doing it for _decades_. Trip, look at me.” Vince’s once sandy hair had turned silver. The euphemistically entitled laugh and frown lines had become noticeable. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m not as strong or as fast I as used to be. People are starting to notice. If I keep this up, I’m just going to be putting people in danger. I have to retire.

 

            “I wanted this to be your legacy,” he finished, sounding forlorn. Trip’s heart twanged in sympathy.

 

             “Dad, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to insult you. I am proud to have you as my father, but this,” he gestured to the spider silk garment, “this isn’t for me. That’s not how I’m going to be contributing to Palm City. Jesus, I can’t even picture running around in that behind Helena’s back…”

 

            “You wouldn’t _have_ to keep it from her,” Vince said. After marrying Peter, he had come to appreciate being able to confide in your spouse. If he had worked things out with Dana, he was sure he would have told her the truth, eventually.

 

            “Oh? What would I tell her?” Trip snorted. “‘ _Hey, babe, me running around in tights wouldn’t be a deal-breaker, would it_?’ I’m sure that would go over well.”

 

            “If this was what you wanted to do and if she really loved you, she would accept it. She would support you, Trip.”

 

            “Maybe,” the younger Faraday conceded. “But it _isn’t_ what I want to do, Dad. I’m sorry, it just isn’t. I guess you’ll have to find someone else to wear the cape.”

 

* * *

 

            “You did _what_?!” Gerry Blander was aghast.

 

            “Breathe, Gerry, breathe,” Trip told his best friend.

 

            “Shut up about my breathing! What do you mean you turned down the chance to be the Cape?”

 

            “Now, don’t start, Gerry…”

 

            “‘Don’t start,’” he repeated, shaking his head. “You idiot! It would have been perfect! We could have been partners!”

 

            “What are you talking about?” Trip asked, confused.

 

            “So you didn’t figure it out… Okay, don’t be mad ‘cause I didn’t tell you. I was going to tell you, you’ve just been busy a lot lately between Helena and work and—”

 

            “Just spit it out, Gerry,” Trip insisted.

 

            “You know how your stepsister stepped down as Orwell when she took over from her father as CEO of ARK Corporation?” Gerry began. Peter Fleming, bowing to the inevitable, had retired a month or so prior. (Though he still held a significant chunk of ARK’s stock and so was going to remain involved in the company’s affairs.)

 

            “Yeah,” Trip shrugged. He never had followed Orwell’s blog closely. “I heard she found someone else to fill in for her—wait, you’re not trying to say—”

 

            “That the new Orwell is yours truly,” Gerry grinned. “But of course; who else would it be? I couldn’t pass up a chance like that.”

 

            Trip started chuckling.

 

            “What’s so funny?” Gerry asked, narrowing his eyes.

 

            “All—all those years,” Trip said, while trying to stifle the giggles, “that it was Jamie everyone assumed Orwell was a guy. Then she wrote that post telling everyone that they had it all wrong and now,” he snickered, “now that Orwell actually _is_ a guy all your readers are going to think you’re a woman.”

 

            Gerry picked up a throw pillow and threw it at Trip’s head.

 

            “Quit giggling; it’s not that funny, Triplet. Alright, you know what? If you’re that juvenile, I’m glad we’re not going to be partners after all.”

 

            “I’m sorry, man,” Trip said, once he had gotten himself under control. “It would have been pretty cool to work together, but—”

 

            “But bureaucracy and running around on rooftops and beating up criminals don’t mix,” Gerry concluded.

 

            “They don’t!” Trip nodded. “Could you imagine if it ever got out that the Secretary of Prisons was going around, tying up future inmates for the police to find?” he shuddered. “My career would be over before you could say: ‘ _One man, one fight…’_ ”

 

            “‘ _One right_ ,’” they finished in unison.

 

 

* * *

 

            Back at the penthouse, Vince found Peter in the middle of an online chess game. (Those poor anonymous opponents never knew what hit them.) Unlike Vince, who decided to go natural, Peter kept his hair dyed black. Chess would have called him out for his vanity, but it was one of their shared traits.

 

            “How did it go?” Peter called out, while putting the other player’s king in check.

 

            “He said no,” Vince replied, sounding downcast.

 

            “Really?” Peter sounded amused, as his avatar declared checkmate. “I always was proud of that boy.”

 

            “Oh, very mature, Peter; do you really still hate the Cape after all this time?”

 

            “Hate’s a strong word. Perhaps ‘resent’ is more appropriate… Well, look, who knows what schemes I could have gotten away with if you hadn’t come on the scene?”

 

            “Really feeling the love here,” Vince rolled his eyes, as Peter got up from his chair and pulled him into his arms.

 

            “Of course, at the end of the day, I’d still choose growing old with you over—”

 

            “World domination?” Vince supplied.

 

            “Something like that. Does this mean you’re going to postpone your retirement?” Peter inquired. Vince shook his head.

 

            “I can’t. You know I’m not as young as I used to be. I’ll just have to find somebody else to wear the mask.”

 

            The door opened and Pete walked into the room.

 

            “Hey, Pa, Dad; what’s this about finding someone to wear a mask?”

 

            Vince turned to assess their son. Pete was eighteen years old, due to graduate from high school next week and, thanks to the insistence of the entire family, to start college in the autumn. Specifically, he was registered at the local community college, so he wouldn’t be leaving town…

 

            “No, bloody hell, NO!” Chess snapped. “No way is my son going to be the next Cape!”

 

            “He’s _our_ son,” Vince reminded his husband. “It’s his birthright and he’s old enough to make that decision for himself.”

 

            “So, suddenly it’s his birthright, is it? Funny how not two hours ago you were offering that _privilege_ to his brother!” Chess exclaimed.

 

            “Dad, is that true? You picked Trip over me?” Pete’s blue eyes were wide, full of hurt. Vince might have been moved if he wasn’t sure that it was the same expression Pete used to charm half of the ladies at his high school.

 

            “Alright, I asked Trip first, but he’s older and more responsible than you and I knew he was going to react this way if I asked you,” Vince jerked a thumb in Chess’ direction as he finished. 

 

            “The very idea of Chess’ son—”

 

            “He’s not you!”

 

            “He’s not you, either!”

 

            “He’s right over here,” Pete interrupted them. He huffed. “What’s this about Trip being more responsible than me?”

 

            “I’m sorry, how many cars have you wrecked?” Vince countered.

 

            “Well, they weren’t completely totaled…” Pete shifted his weight.

 

            “Who got suspended because he was cutting class to go make out behind the bleachers?”

 

            “Now, _that_ ’s my boy,” Chess smirked.

 

            “Please, like women would go anywhere near your other half before—”

 

            “Ugh, Dad, don’t need to hear this!” Pete whined. “You made your point. I get it, okay? I’m not exactly the model student that Trip was.”

 

            “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to have to learn some discipline,” Vince warned him. “The Cape can’t afford to be reckless—”

 

            Chess scoffed. Vince ignored him and continued.

 

            “And you can’t go telling girls you’re the Cape to try to impress them.”

 

            “…I’m not actually sure that it would impress them,” Pete said. “I mean, aside from the nerdy ones…”

 

            “Nerds can turn out to be pretty sexy,” Vince observed, glancing at his egotistical husband. He didn’t know where Pete was getting these ideas. Dana had definitely been attracted to the Cape back in the day and she was anything but nerdy.

 

            “Regardless,” Vince continued, “you would have to safeguard your secret.”

 

            “But not to the extent you did, right?” Pete shot his father a questioning look. “Trip says you wouldn’t even tell him or his mother…”

 

            “Yeah, alright, not to the same extent,” the soon-to-be-retired vigilante conceded. “If you get married and have kids, by all means, you can tell them, but you don’t go blabbing the secret on the first date—”

 

            “Or the fourth,” Chess added…no. Vince took a closer look. No, that was Peter. Chess had apparently withdrawn into himself, refusing to take further part in this conversation.

 

            “You haven’t said anything about this, yet,” Vince said, inviting him to.

 

            “I’m… not as violently opposed to it as my other half, but I’m not going to pretend this is something I wanted for our son,” Fleming replied.

 

            “Pa?”

 

            “Not that I wanted you to be the next Chess, either, love,” he sighed. “It’s going to be dangerous, even without opposition from ARK Corporation.”

 

            “Or from Chess,” Faraday added. He turned to their son. “He’s right about that. The Cape is a target; I’ve lost track of the number of attempts made on my life.”

 

            “Three hundred and four,” Peter commented absently. The other two stared at him. “What?”

 

            “Nothing,” the teenager shook his head, wondering if it was considered stalking if you were married to the person. Either way, it seemed a bit creepy.

 

            “You think that’s creepy?” Vince stage-whispered, as if reading his mind. “You should have seen your sister when she was in full-Orwell mode. If she wasn’t on my side, I would have crapped my pants.”

 

            “Really, Faraday, this is why he’s crude; he gets it from you,” the older man complained.

 

            “Yeah? Well he gets his penchant for getting in trouble with the cops from you!”

 

            “No, he doesn’t,” Fleming contradicted him. “I never got caught.”  

 

            “Anyway,” the hero tried to steer the conversation back on track, “this is a big decision and you don’t have to make it tonight. Why don’t you take some time to think it over?”

 

            “But if I say yes, you will teach me how to use the cape?” Pete asked hopefully.

 

            “Yes, I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did you see that coming? 
> 
> Chapter title is from Aqua’s “Cartoon Heroes.”
> 
> One chapter/epilogue left. If you have any requests for the story, now is the time to make them. (And if you have any other requests, now is the time to hit the meme on LJ.)


	13. Epilogue: Forever United

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Extreme Sweetness ahead. Reader Discretion is advised. 
> 
> The epilogue draws on the series' roots in "Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman"; readers are encouraged to refer back to the first fic in the series, "In-Laws."

            It was a warm September evening. The masked vigilante wrapped one gloved hand around the auburn-haired woman’s head as their kiss deepened, turning more intense—

 

            And then the Cape was unceremoniously yanked away from her from behind. A fist connected with his jaw.

 

            “THAT’S MY SISTER, YOU ASSHOLE!” Trip Faraday shrieked, as his brother’s fingers reached up to inspect the damage. Any misimpression he’d had that Pete and Elaine felt only sibling-like affection for each other was long-gone.

 

            “Hey!” Elaine Kirchner put her hands on her hips. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You are not my father, Trip.”

 

            “So if he was intervening, would you listen to him?” the Secretary of Prisons asked.

 

            “You know what? No, I wouldn’t let him tell me who I could or couldn’t date, either. I am not a child anymore. I am the mayor of this goddamn city and I don’t need my big brother to protect my virtue!”

 

            “You don’t understand!” Trip felt like he was going mad. Elaine couldn’t possibly know what she was getting herself into. He turned to his brother. “You—how dare you? What would,” he caught himself before saying ‘Dad’ because if Elaine didn’t know Pete’s identity, he shouldn’t give it away. _No, screw it_ ; _he doesn’t get to hide that secret from her at this point_. “What would Dad say if he saw you now?”

 

            “From what I heard, I don’t really think Dad’s one to talk,” Pete countered. “Give us a moment, honey?” he asked his beloved, before steering his older brother a short distance away.

 

            “Trip,” he finally said, “I know what I’m doing. Would you calm down a second and listen to me? I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

 

            Trip opened his mouth to say something, but Pete never knew what it was, because one of Scales’ idiotic brats chose that precise moment to make a ruckus.

 

            “Hold that thought for later,” the Cape instructed the older man before dashing off.

 

* * *

 

 

_Utopia, some unspecified century in the future_

 

            “That’s not how it happened, the first time around, in this dimension,” H.G. Wells pointed out. He was visiting Tempus in prison,* again. “Vince Faraday and Peter Fleming weren’t supposed to get together. And then you came up with that plan to switch them with their counterparts from another dimension. So really, you’re to thank for their descendants, though I’m sure that wasn’t part of your plan.”

 

            “Not in the least, Herb. I suppose you’re going to conclude from that that no matter what evil comes up with, no matter how much meddling you do with the course of history, true love will always prevail, or something else as equally nauseating. Might I point out that if you hadn’t screwed up when you were supposed to ensure that neither of them remembered the incident, the past would have remained unchanged? What happened to worrying about changing the course of history?”

 

            Wells considered this for a moment.

 

            “It’s really more of a concern about _ruining_ history than about changing it,” he decided.

 

            “Oh, well if we’re allowed to _fix_ history, then the first thing I’m going to do the next time I get ahold of your time machine is kill Vince Faraday.”

 

            “I’m sorry you feel that way,” the author stood up from the table. “I _was_ going to give you this, but now…”

 

            “Herb! What did you bring me?” Tempus’ eyes lit up, as he tried to make out the slim package in the elder’s hands. Reluctantly, Wells handed it over. “Is this..?”

 

            “A videogame,” Wells confirmed. “The most violent I could find; I was rather hoping that if the game kept you occupied, you might not spend all your time plotting ways to escape and steal a time machine.”

 

             “Not steal, Herb, borrow,” Tempus corrected. When Wells didn’t look convinced, Tempus went on. “You know, Herb, something’s bothering me. Your time machine runs on pure 24 karat gold. However did you acquire the fuel for it in the first place?”

 

            “That sounds like an insinuation that I didn’t earn that gold. If you’re going to insult my writing now, I’m leaving.”

 

            “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it, Herb. I’m a big fan of your book, ‘The Time Machine.’”

 

            “Is that so?” Wells looked skeptical.

 

            “Of course it is! I rooted for the Morlocks,” the villain smirked.

 

            “That’s what you took away from that novel?” the writer asked, disappointed, but not really surprised.

 

            “They weren’t fans of your idea of Utopia, either. Can’t say I blame them. Everything’s been downhill since the Second Amendment was repealed.**

 

            “Thank you, for the videogame,” he added.

 

            “You’re welcome,” the time traveler cleared his throat. “I should go, I should get back—”

 

            “To your wife, yes,” Tempus finished, “unless you’re between wives now? No? I should make her acquaintance on one of these trips, thank her for letting me borrow you.”

 

            “I’ll thank you to stay away from my family, Tempus,” Wells warned, trying to sound as intimidating as possible and merely earning a chuckle from his nemesis. “What, may I ask, is so amusing?”

 

            “I bet that Faraday said the same thing to Fleming. I should’ve known—couldn’t find one world with the Cape without Chess, they were so linked. They weren’t just _like_ soul mates, they _were_ soul mates,” he groaned.

 

            “Promise me something, Herb: Promise you will never write fluff.”

 

THE END

 

***Yes, “Utopia” still has prisons, thanks to Tempus. And yes, Wells says “dimension” when he means “universe.”**

****From Tempus’ description of Utopia: “A place so boring you’d blow your brains out, but there are no guns.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, after more than a year, the fic has finally drawn to a close. This epilogue also brings to a close the BIOTP series. I do not mean that other writers aren’t allowed to continue playing in the ’verse, merely that I consider myself finished with it. 
> 
> Not that I’m finished writing. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll finish “The Cape of Kozmo” next.
> 
> Chapter title from Kelly Clarkson’s “My Life Would Suck Without You.”


End file.
